


Bad Dog Bakery and Café

by Boom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bakery!AU, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, I'm serious guys, M/M, Mentions of attempted suicide, alpha!Scott, beta!derek, just forewarning, more characters as needed, stiles is still a human, there's not really an end in sight, yeah I can't believe I'm doing it either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:37:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boom/pseuds/Boom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles saves an Omega from wolfsbane poisoning. Said Omega now won't leave Stiles alone. Stiles doesn't really have a problem with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles sees him for the first time while he's on break. He doesn't smoke, usually he just sits on the picnic table out back and texts his dad to eat the lunch Stiles so thoughtfully packed for him, but today he walked outside, desperate for a few minutes of fresh air and realized there was a wild man sleeping half on the table. The guy looked terrible. His face and arms were covered in mud, his clothes were torn, and Stiles was pretty sure there was a stick in his hair. Now usually a normal person would slowly back away and get some help, maybe call 911 or something. Instead, Stiles approached, a small insistant voice telling him he was being a complete moron, and reached for the guy.

"Hey--"

It was all he was able to get out before the man came up swinging, roaring at Stiles like a monster, his eyes a harsh, icy blue. There was no way the guys inside missed that.

And there was definitely a stick in this dude's hair.

"Whoa! Chill! Jesus!" Stiles raised his hands, nearly dropping his phone in his attempt to show no harm. It was too late though, the twins were beside him in an instant, snarling and half turned, smelling what Stiles couldn't, but already surmised. This guy was a drifter. An Omega. Dangerous. He looked between the twins, sizing them up before narrowing his focus on Stiles, the weakest. Both boys stepped forward, but just as Stiles saw it, reached out and said, "No, don't--"

He was gone.

It would be another month before he showed up again.

~~~

Stiles hated the cold. He was always tall and skinny ("Willowy," Allison always said with one of her charming dimpled smiles), which meant he didn't just feel the cold, it sunk into his bones, turned him into one of those annoying shaking chihuahuas until spring or sometimes even summer. It sucked. It also meant he had an over abundance of sweaters, hoodies, jackets, scarves, hats, gloves, T-shirts, and occasionally, long underwear in his back seat, depending how the weather decided to act on any given day. So it was just his luck when he ran into the rogue Omega again he did, in fact, nearly _run into him_. Stiles stomped on the brake, throwing himself, his coffee and really everything else in the jeep forward while he tried to avoid hitting the now bleeding, swaying, dirty mess placing a rough clawed hand on the hood of his baby. Again normal, sane people (people like Lydia Martin, Danny Mahealani, those kinds of people), would not get out of the car, probably call Scott or Deaton or the sheriff or a host of other, much more helpful people. Stiles didn't even think about it. He hopped out of the drivers seat, let out a slightly hysterical, "What the hell dude?!" and caught the werewolf as he slid to the ground, bringing him back to his feet and around to the passenger side.

He knew he would be late for work, it was already six am and if he had to run all the way out to the clinic, then back across town... yeah he wasn't going to make it. He helped the guy into his passenger seat, ignoring his snarls and snapping, and shut the door firmly before running back around to the drivers side. He dug his phone out of the sopping mess on the floor, thankful he'd gotten one of those life-proof cases Scott had been harping on him about, and dialed Isaac.

"How are you at work already?" Isaac accused, sounding half asleep.

"I'm not," Stiles said, looking both ways before running a red light, "I'm gonna be late."

"Jeep break down again?"

"No," Stiles sneered, slowing down to take a turn, "I need to drop something off at Deaton's."

"Deaton's?" Isaac asked, sounding perplexed, "What do you need to drop off at Deaton's?"

"It's nothing, really, it's just--" Stiles saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and reached for it, "Hey! No! We do not get out of moving cars!"

Stiles' hand wrapped around the thin stretched out collar of the guys shirt, tugging him back into a sitting position. The guy groaned, bright eyes flashing angrily at him. They weren't blue anymore, just pale and feverish. That was oddly worrying.

"Stiles, who's with you?"

"Nobody, it's the radio. Look, I just called to let you know to start without me. I printed off the bake sheet last night, the tags are in Lydia's desk, I'll be there as soon as I can."

Then he ended the call and threw the phone in the back seat, pressing the gas a little harder, "Don't worry, dude, we're almost there. Just hold on."

The man whined again as Stiles took another turn a little harder than necessary and whipped into the vet clinic's back parking lot. Deaton was at the door before he'd gotten the man fully out of his jeep. The vet, as always, looked calm and composed, but there was a slight under current of worry when he said, "Put him in exam room four, I'll be there in a moment."

Stiles just nodded, huffing as he lugged the semi-conscious wall of meat (seriously, this guy's muscles had muscles) into the back exam room. This one was a little bigger than the others, catering to the larger animals Deaton occasionally treated, and there for rarely used. Deaton returned a moment later, asking Stiles to stand back so he could get a closer look. Stiles complied, worried he may have done more harm than good when he'd carried the guy from the car. Deaton hummed, striding over to the locked cabinet in the corner and opening it with deft fingers.

"What the hell, Stiles?"

Stiles jumped at the shout, turning to the door to see Scott looking half put together and angry. His hair was still damp and his teeth were clenched, bringing out his crooked jaw.

"Scott," Stiles said, relieved, "I was just about to call you--"

"Isaac already did," until then Scott had been staring at the wolf on the table, now he looked at Stiles. And Stiles finally realized just how much this all might have been a mistake.

"Scott--"

"We'll talk about this later," Scott cut in, "Go to work. We'll take care of him."

Stiles hesitated only long enough to watch Scott cross the room to Deaton's elbow, then left. He couldn't do any more anyway.

~~~

Hours later, Stiles had all but forgotten the rogue in the melee of the day. The new guy, Greenberg (Stiles refused to actually learn his name, he wasn't going to last a week anyway), had already dropped a tray of sixes, cake batter going every where, and burnt two full ovens because he didn't set a timer. Stiles was livid and trying to play catch-up. Isaac silently working beside him while Greenberg was relegated to the end of the line to wrap.

"Hows it going back here?"

Stiles looked up just long enough to see Danny leaning on the door frame, looking casual in soft jeans and a deep green sweater.

"Oh you know," Stiles shrugged, pouring batter into the pan in his hand before passing it to Isaac, "Other than being two hours behind, and training an adult how to use a timer--"

"Stiles."

"--We're all good back here."

Danny sighed, "I'm sending Allison to take over for you. Scott's in my office."

"Why?"

Danny gave him a deadpan look, then walked away. Stiles turned to Isaac who just mirrored their boss's look. Then it clicked.

"I'll be back in a bit," He said, hastily stripping off his apron and handing over his half full pan. Isaac just rolled his eyes and kept scooping. Stiles cut through the kitchen to the storage hall and Danny's office, closing the door behind him. Scott looked up from the desk and grinned, his mouth full of sandwich and motioned for Stiles to take the other still on the plate. Okay, maybe he hadn't screwed up as bad as he'd thought. Stiles wolfed down as Scott finished up, wiping his mouth before beginning.

"Stiles that was really stupid, what you did earlier today."

Stiles paused, swallowing his bite. Then again, maybe he had.

"Look I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," Scott replied, waving it off, "You saved his life."

Stiles felt a knot of anxiety he hadn't realized he'd had loosen, "He's okay?"

"He should be fine by tomorrow," Scott smiled, "But what you did was still stupid."

"Hey, I wasn't going to just _leave_ him!" Stiles flailed slightly, almost losing his food, "What kind of karma would that give me?"

"Bad I guess."

"Exactly," Stiles pointed his sandwich at his best friend, "And God forbid I need anymore bad karma."

Scott just smiled and shook his head.

"So," Stiles picked at his lettuce, "What's gonna happen to him?"

"I offered him protection," Scott said, "He was pretty banged up. Had all kinds of wolfsbane poisoning."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah dude. We had to give him four different antidotes."

Stiles leaned back, eyes wide, "You think he'll take it?"

Scott shrugged, "Maybe. It's hard to say. He doesn't exactly trust us, you know?"

"Even though you saved him?"

"Saving doesn't mean anything, Stiles," Scott replied, "For all he knows we patched him up just to send him back to the people who caught him in the first place."

"Do you know who did that to him?"

"No, but I'm gonna talk to Chris tonight, see if there are any hunters in town."

Stiles nodded, taking another bite of sandwich, "Did he tell you his name?"

"No," Scott said, "Not yet."


	2. Chapter 2

"Dad!" Stiles called, hanging his coats on the banister of the stairs, "I've got dinner!"

"I'll be right down, Buddy!"

Stiles sidled into the kitchen, setting groceries on the counter and pulling out two turkey burgers on wheat, light mayo, and baked sweet potato fries.

"Please tell me theres something else in there," John said, sounding a little pained as he examined the food his son laid out.

"Aiden made it special," Stiles explained, grabbing plates, "Don't be a wimp, it's good."

"Yeah," The sheriff replied skeptically.

Stiles just rolled his eyes, "How's work?"

"About the same," John replied, moving to the living room, "How's the bakery?"

"Alright," Stiles shrugged, slumping next to his father on the couch, "New guy's crap, but everything else is good. Lydia's thinking of expanding."

The sheriff grunted and the two went quiet as they caught up on the news. There wasn't anything new, really. The town had been relatively quiet since the body they found in the woods years ago. Well, there was Scott, Boyd, Erica, Isaac, and Jackson being turned into werewolves. And the Kanima thing. And the Darach. Okay so basically a lot happened that the media never caught on to. His dad did though so that's why when he said, "So I heard you rescued an Omega," Stiles wasn't all that surprised. Instead he asked, "How'd you find out?"

"Chris Argent called the station asking if there was any information on a new drifter in town," the sheriff explained, "Apparently there are no new hunters and that much poison in a person's system means one of two things: torture or suicide."

Stiles nearly choked on a fry, "You think he was trying to commit suicide?"

"I haven't met the guy," John shrugged, changing the channel to sports, "I think four types of wolfsbane is a little overkill though."

Sties thought about it, "Maybe he was trying to be thorough?"

He shrugged again and the two men dropped it.

~~~

Stiles got back to his apartment later than he liked, which meant he woke up later than he wanted which meant he was late again to work. It was not a good start to the day, and it only seemed to get worse when Lydia met him by the back door with a very large, very strong cup of coffee. Stiles looked from the offending paper cup to his second best friend, trying to decide whether to run now or try snatching the coffee first.

"Scott and Danny are in the office," she said before Stiles could make a move.

"Why?" was the first thing out of his mouth followed quickly by, "Is something wrong?"

But Lydia, darling, strawberry blonde temptress that she was, just smirked and handed Stiles the coffee. Okay that couldn't be good. That wasn't good, right? Stiles slowly made his way back to Danny's office, trying to catch any sign something was amiss. Ethan and Aiden were a little more on edge than usual, but that could just as much be about the ridiculous influx of orders coming through the window than anything. Stiles took one last deep breathe and pressed the door open.

And was met with the palest green eyes he'd ever seen.

"Good, you're here."

Stiles snapped his mouth shut, his eyes flicking from Danny behind the desk, to Scott in one chair and the stranger in the other, trying very very hard not to stare again.

"Yeah, I'm hear," He finally said, clearing his throat, eyes flicking one last time to the stranger, "Why am I here?"

"This is Derek," Danny motioned to the stranger, "He's the one you saved yesterday."

God was he? Because this guy looked nothing like the wild man he shoved in his car. That guy was dirty and smelled terrible and was seriously have feral. This guy was clean and shaven and.... okay so he still looked half feral but that had to be about him being in the presence of an Alpha that wasn't _his_ Alpha...

Has he been staring at Stiles the whole time?

"Hi," Stiles finally managed, sticking out his hand. The guy, Derek, looked at it for a second before shaking it gingerly. Stiles waited for him to say something, but nothing came.

"Derek wanted to thank you," Scott explained, "Before he headed back out of town."

"You're leaving?" Stiles asked before realizing he was still holding the guy's hand and quickly dropped it before it got weird. Because the situation wasn't weird enough, obviously.

"No," Derek said immediately. His voice was husky from disuse, almost a croak instead of a word.

"Uh," Scott looked at Derek like he'd lost his mind, "Dude you just said--"

"Can I change my mind?" Derek shot Scott a look, half challenge half... well half plea, but Stiles wasn't one to judge.

"Of course," Danny interjected smoothly, "But we'll need to keep an eye on you if you're in the area."

Derek nodded, seeming to keep all his focus on Danny.

"There aren't many menial jobs open right now," Scott mused, "I'd get you something at the clinic, but honestly you scare the cats. Actually I think the hospitality industry is out in general for you. Too many people."

"Maybe Boyd could get him a position at the Sheriff's Office?" Danny asked.

"Nah, Dad's not hiring," Stiles dismissed.

Danny seemed to consider for a moment, tapping his pen lightly on the desk, "We need a dishwasher--"

"I'll do it," Derek said immediately.

There was a stunned moment of silence before Scott recovered, "I don't know, he'll have to go to the front to get the dishes. You think he can handle the crowd?"

"We'll have him start with mornings," Danny replied reasonably, "Jake doesn't officially quit for another three weeks anyway."

Scott hmmed, then nodded, "Okay. You think you can handle that, Derek?"

"Yeah," came the quiet response, Derek nearly sinking into himself. He seemed to be exhausted, maybe all that poison wasn't totally out of his system yet. Or maybe this was the most he'd spoken in months, maybe years. It was hard to tell.

"We'll start you Monday then," Danny smiled. Derek gave a small grimace and a nod.

~~~

"You think he'll be okay?"

"Who?" Scott took another pull from his beer, staring at the hint of stars through the banisters of Stile's fire escape.

"Derek," Stiles replied, rolling his eyes.

Scott shrugged, "I don't know."

"Okay, but what do you _think_?" Stiles pressed, nudging his best friend's shoulder.

"I think," Scott began slowly, patiently working the label off his bottle, "He's new. And wild. I think half the pack is working at the bakery and they may not be happy with a new wolf in their territory. Particularly the twins."

"So have a meeting," Stiles said, leaning back a little, "Explain the situation."

"That's my plan, first thing tomorrow," Scott nodded absently.

"What?"

"What?"

"What do you mean what? You're thinking something."

"No I'm not."

"Scott, you're like an open book, man, what's going on in that little head of yours?"

Scott sighed, rubbing his eyes, "Nothing. I'm just hoping I made the right decision."

"'Course you did!" Stiles slapped him on the back, "He's just shy. And if he tries to hurt anyone, we'll send him to work in the preserve with Erica."

Scott laughed, "Now that I want to see."

Stiles snorted at they tapped bottles and finished the dregs.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles hadn't had great plans after graduating high school. Truth be told making it out in general was a huge plus, but when the day came and the caps were thrown, Stiles was left standing in an empty auditorium, holding a piece of paper and thinking, "What the hell do I do now?"

His dad had a plan of course. His dad always had a plan. So Stiles worked at the station filing reports, and went to the local community college to raise his GPA from abysmal to acceptable. Then John Stilinski had his second heart attack and everything changed. Stiles immediately dropped out of school to take care of him, picking up odd jobs around town to help with income, moving back into his old room to save money, and generally being a pain in his father's ass. There was no more cutting corners when it came to food. Medication was taken exactly as prescribed. Stiles got the whole department behind it, even asking Boyd to keep a spacial eye on the Sheriff. Boyd was not at all subtle about his stalking. Stiles was eternally grateful. 

And for a while, it worked. Until everyone started graduating from school. Scott became big animal vet for the preserve, Allison got a degree in criminal justice, Isaac was pre-law, Danny graduated with a double major in business management and sociology, Lydia was a CPA _because she felt like it_. And they were all incredibly successful at what they did. Nothing brought that home as hard and fast as Stiles sidling up to a table to take drink orders and realizing it was Danny. Having lunch with his boss and a couple of bigwigs. Talking about a promotion. True Danny had been nice and courteous, and he'd left an insane tip, but that didn't stop Stiles from mumbling, not making eye contact and generally being a fool around honestly great customers. He'd gone home that night, laid in the bed he'd had since he was 12 and felt worthless. It had been a long, unproductive night of tossing and turning with the occasional mental beat down before the sun rose and Stiles deemed it safe to get out of bed.

Of course to make himself feel better, he figured he'd splurge on something hot and caffeinated. Of course when he got to the coffee shop, Danny _and_ Lydia were chatting at a table just inside the door. _Of course_ Lydia instantly saw him and demanded he bring up a chair. No amount of excuses could get him out of it, so he reluctantly sat with arguably his two most successful friends and caught up. It hadn't ended up being too bad, actually, and it sorta became a thing. Once a week, they would meet up and chat, just the three of them. Then Lydia started dragging Allison along because, "Us humans need to stick together."

And that's how they found out Allison hated her job. She was working in a corporate office, something she'd never thought she'd be doing, shoveling paperwork by the bucket and never getting anything done. Lydia offered to hook her up at her office but Allison just scrunched her nose.

"I'm not trading one box for another."

"You could always be a server," Stiles joked, "The pay is crap, but at least you can talk to people."

To his surprise Allison didn't laugh. She even looked considering.

Two weeks later, Danny quit his job. Everyone was shocked, but Danny just said, "I need a change, I couldn't move in the company anymore anyway without leaving town and with the whole..." he waved his hand absently and everyone nodded, Danny was Scott's Emissary, taking over when Deaton decided to retire from the position, "That's impossible."

"So what are you gonna do?" Stiles asked.

Danny smiled, "Actually, I was thinking of opening a cafe."

Stiles nearly spat out his coffee.

"I like it," Allison said immediately.

"You _like it_?"

"Yeah," Allison swirled her mocha something something, giving Danny a very calculating smile. Danny leaned back in his seat, cosign his arms and smiling right along with her, "I think it could work."

"You--"

Stiles turned, "Lydia this is not--"

"I like it, too," She said decisively, taking a sip of her green tea smoothy, looking like a shark smelling fresh kill which, yeah wasn't _that_ an image.

"I don't like it," Stiles finally voiced, having all eyes turn to him.

"Why not?" Lydia asked innocently. Stiles was not fooled, he knew what that voice meant.

"Because," Stiles sneered, "Running a business is hard, running a restaurant is fucking brutal. Trust me, I actually _work in one_."

"So what are you saying?" Danny's eyebrow rose as if he didn't understand.

"I'm saying it takes more than a stove to run one of these things!" Stiles snapped, "You want a cafe? So like, everything made in house, fresh produce, that kinda stuff? Then you need three people in the front, at least two more in the kitchen, you'll need a house manager, a bitch boy to accept your deliveries which will be coming in _every day_ , a guy in dish, _two bakers_ if you want to even _think_ of making bread in house and... what?"

Danny, Lydia, and Allison shared a significant look before turning back to Stiles.

"Oh no," he said immediately setting down his cup and raising a finger to stop them, "No. Don't even."

And that was the start. Danny had already found an old shop downtown he wanted to refurbish and with Boyd, Scott and the twins helping, he had it ready in a few months. Allison and Lydia jumped in immediately to help with the opening and Stiles... well Stiles got bullied into culinary school. All but his core credits were already covered by his previous brief stint in higher education, so he got through it pretty quick and turned out to not be that bad. Danny even expressed surprise (which, hey, _rude_ ) and officially hired him and Isaac (who was on vacation from law school) to cover the bakery. The twins were hired on to handle the kitchen, Lydia took over as manager, Allison ran the front, and Danny gracefully accepted the job of business owner and occasional bitch boy which had Stiles laughing his ass off.

The craziest part was, it worked. After the first month, they started seeing noticeable business. By the fifth week they had regulars and by month three they had a significant profit. Danny and Lydia were thrilled and Stiles could even admit he was pretty proud himself. The work was hard, and it was a year or so before they found their comfortable flow, but still. They did it.

And it was freaking _awesome_.

~~~

Stiles showed up with pie. He knew it was a gamble, but it was also a risk he was willing to take because this pack meeting? Was _not_ going to be fun. Scott swung the door open before Stiles was half way up the porch steps and said, "Please tell me it's apple."

"Dutch apple," Stiles replied, holding it a little higher for the Alpha to get a whiff under the tinfoil, "C'mon, man let me in, I'm freezing."

"Oh yeah," Scoot stepped aside, his eyes never leaving Stiles' hands.

"Hey!" Allison greeted Stiles with a one armed hug, her eyes lighting on the dish, "That smells amazing!"

"Yeah well," Stiles shrugged, letting her take it away, "The least I could do."

"Everyone else is in the living room," Scott motioned for him to follow and led the way through the small house he and Allison had bought not long ago. The place still smelled like fresh wood and paint, which was a nice change from Stiles apartment which still smelled like a boy's dorm no matter how much he cleaned (which was admittedly not much).

Lydia sat on the couch with Ethan and Danny while Aiden leaned his back against her, his legs splayed under the coffee table comfortably. Boyd and Erica were sitting on the hearth, a fire crackling happily behind them. Isaac stood by the window, reading over a stapled sheaf of papers, and only looking up when Scott and Stiles entered.

"Okay," Scott clapped his hands as Allison brought out the pie to noises of approval, "Now that everyones here let's get started."

"Is this about the Omega Stiles stank of the other day?" Aiden asked immediately, receiving a sharp kick from Lydia.

"The one you two snuck in yesterday?" Ethan finished, giving Danny a pointed look. Danny refused to look guilty, instead reaching for a piece of pie.

"Yes," Scott said patiently, "There is a new Omega in our territory and--" Scott stared Aiden down, "He's under our protection."

"What?"Aiden said just as Ethan asked, "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Scott confirmed, "And you will respect him in your space, guys. He's been through a lot, he doesn't need you giving him trouble too."

"Will he give us trouble?" Boyd asked.

"No," Scott replied, "He shouldn't."

"How do we know?" Isaac pressed.

"Dude the guy was poisoned with four different types of wolfsbane--"

" _Four_?"

"Stiles--"

"--There's no guarantee he _won't_ be aggressive."

"Thank you, Stiles," Scott deadpanned, giving his best friend a _shut up_ look.

"I'm just saying," Stiles shrugged, holding up his hands, "He's been through enough and if tweedle dee and twiddle dum--"

"Hey!"

"--Start playing macho wolf he'll probably take it badly."

"Ethan and Aiden both know what it's like to be at the bottom of the totem pole," Scott gave the twins significant looks.

"We're not going to treat him poorly just because we were," Ethan says, nudging Aiden to agree.

"Good," Danny said, "Because he's working at the bakery starting Monday."

"What?!" Aiden turned as if to stand, only to have Lydia trow a leg over his shoulder to hold him in place. There was no way she could actually keep him there if he really wanted to get up, but that's just not what you did when you dated Lydia Martin. Instead he slumped back to his position, arms crossed.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Ethan asked.

"I am now," Danny replied, taking his hand.

"He wants to stay in town for a little while," Scoot explained, "Odds are it's not permanent. He didn't show any interest in joining the pack."

"You think he'll change his mind?" Erica asked, speaking up for the first time.

Scott flicked a look at Stiles, who raised an eyebrow, before turning back to her, "I don't know."

"So there's a chance?" Boyd said, less of a question, more of a statement.

"The longer he stays the higher the chance," Danny answered, "Wolves aren't solitary creatures. He may start liking it here, but it's all very dependent on him."

"Real quick though," Isaac said, straightening slightly, "Did you say _four_ types of wolfsbane?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, the memory flashing through his mind's eye, "Yeah, I did."

"How is that even possible? There aren't even that many versions indigenous to this part of the country."

"They were administered over time," Scott explained, "Deaton and I think he could've been poisoned over months with higher doses in the past few days. I'm surprised he could even walk let alone get to the road."

"Where did you find him?" Erica asked Stiles.

"On Whipsmill."

"That's five miles from the preserve."

"Could he have walked that far?"

"No way," Stiles shook his head vehemently at Erica and Boyd, "The guy could barely stand, he probably came from one of the buildings around."

"Well if he walked out of a building there had to be someone watching him," Lydia said reasonably.

"Which means someone could've seen you put him in your car," Allison's shoulders tightened at the thought.

"If someone was there, why didn't they catch him?" Stiles pointed out.

"Maybe you were faster," Allison shot back.

Stiles opened his mouth to rebuke her, but nothing came out, "Is that possible?"

"If they were human," Scott shrugged, "Boyd and I will take a look around, see if there's any evidence of others around."

"What about Stiles?" Isaac asked.

"What about me?"

"Well if someone saw you," he said logically, "Wouldn't they want to get a hold of you to find this guy."

"Derek," Stiles corrected absently.

"Huh?"

"His name is Derek," Stile elaborated, "And if there was someone holding him captive wouldn't they have made their move by now to get me or tried to take him back? I mean, are we sure there's someone looking for him?"

"Why wouldn't there be?" Ethan asked.

"W'll what if it was a suicide attempt," Stiels reasoned.

"That makes no sense," Aiden dismissed, shaking his head, "He was poisoned over months."

"He could've been doing it to himself," Stiles explained, "He could've been taking wolfsbane to make himself weak, in like, a death by hunter thing. He could've wandered here because he heard about Allison and Chris living in town. The Infamous Argents."

"But we don't hunt anymore," Allison intoned.

"Maybe he figured that out too," Stiles said, "And that's why he took the lethal dose."

"Four types of wolfsbane, Stiles," Isaac reminded, "Where would he find all that?"

"Probably took him a while to collect," he shrugged, "Who knows. It's just a theory."

"I don't like either option," Scott said, early, "Either he was tortured and escaped which means we have enemies in town we didn't know about, or he tried to commit suicide and shouldn't be alone."

"Where is he living?" Stiles suddenly asked, looking at Danny, "Did he give you an address?"

"He's homeless, Stiles," Danny responded, "I didn't even give him paperwork, I was going to pay him under the table."

"Great," Stiles slumped slightly against the wall, "So how do we find him?"

"Ethan and I can hunt him down," Aiden offered, Lydia kicked him again stirring an, "Ow! Figure of speech! Jeeze!"

"Not today," Scott directed, "I don't want to scare him off just because we have a theory. We'll wait 'til Monday."

"'Til Monday," Stiles agreed with a nod, suddenly feeling anxious for the weekend to be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Businesses do not start this fast. People do not get through school this fast. I know you know, but now I know you know you know. You know?
> 
> Also if you find anything wrong or screwy or anything like that leave me a message and I'll fix it, I'm really doing this on the fly here. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Monday is Muffin Day.

Stiles arrived early to open shop and get the coffee started, a quiet apology for his inability to keep a schedule the previous week. He made his way through the front room to Lydia's office for the day's bake list, then back to the counter for the carafes when--

"Jesus!" Stiles flailed, almost dropping his papers as he turned the corner, running smack into a brick wall with arms that reached out and steadied him before pulling immediately away and taking a step back. Derek just stared at him, a slight frown playing across his features.

"Sorry," he said.

"You're fine," Stiles rubbed his face, forcing his heart to calm down, "Don't worry about it just... I don't know, announce yourself next time."

Derek gave a jerky nod.

Stiles looked the guy over, "What are you doing here?"

Derek stiffened slightly, "I'm supposed to work."

"W'll right yeah, I know that. You just didn't have to show up until we opened."

Derek shrugged, "Didn't know when that was."

"Oh," Stiles figured that made sense, the only time he'd been brought in was through the back door and they didn't exactly post business hours around the time clock, "Okay, well for future reference, we open every day at 7:30 and close at 5:30," Stiles stepped around Derek, easing him to the main room, "The kitchen opens at 6:30 and closes at three. Aiden and Ethan are our main cooks, you'll meet them when they come in. Isaac and I work in the bakery, we start at 6:30 and finish when we finish, our hours are a little more loose than the rest. Kira works in deco around the corner over there with the big window, she shows up at eight, and Allison should be here any minute to open. In the mean time take this..." Stiles pulled down the carafe full of coffee and pressed it heavily into Derek's hands, "... and set it on that stand there. I'm gonna start the next one and you just have to do the same thing when it's done. In the mean time you can take down the chairs, turn on the lights, that sort of thing, and I'll be in the back if you need me."

Stiles paused for a moment, catching the werewolf's eye, "You okay?"

"Do you always talk this much?" Derek asked.

Stiles couldn't help his smile, "Yeah. Yeah I do."

~~~

It slowly became a routine after that: Stiles would show up a little earlier than usual and Derek would either be waiting at the door or only a few minutes behind him. Stiles would turn on the ovens and get the bake lists ready and Derek would start the coffee, put down the chairs, and do anything Allison needed him to before customers arrived. He was quick and meticulous, never having to be told twice and fighting hard to stay out of everyone's way especially when Scott came around.

"Dude, I've known the guy since we were both in diapers, trust me, he's harmless," Stiles told him one day while he waited for a bowl to be washed.

Derek huffed, not looking up from the lasagna pan he was scrubbing, "He's a True Alpha. Trust me, that's reason enough to be cautious."

"Scared," Stiles teased.

"Weary," Derek corrected, giving Stiles a pointed glare.

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes, "So how'd you find out?"

"Ethan told me," Derek said, "He said they were both Omegas before they joined the pack."

"Yeah," Stiles scratched his chin, gazing that the twins as they worked, "They were a mess when they first showed up."

"Danny said they all were."

Stiles smirked, "He said that huh?"

Derek raised an eyebrow, so Stiles bumped his arm and said, "Remind me to tell you the unabridged version of the pack's formation, yeah?"

Derek's brow furrowed, but he nodded and got back to work.

Later, while Stiles was mopping the back, waiting for the last of the breads to cool (Thursday was Bread Day), Derek came back with a few pans. He put them in their bins under the counter, but hesitated before leaving. Stiles paused, looking expectantly up at the other man before he said, "Allison is Scott's mate."

"Yes," Stiles replied.

"Not Kira."

Stiles raised an eye brow, a small smile slipping onto his face, "No."

Derek nodded, looking away to think, "Lydia is Aiden's mate."

"No," Stiles snorted, wringing the mop and started to scrub again, "And don't you ever let her hear you say that."

"What about Danny and Ethan?" Derek asked, turning fully to face Stiles.

"Why are you all the sudden interested in the hook-ups?" Stiles teased, "Got your eye on someone?"

"I'm just trying to figure out the pack," Derek explained, "Humans are usually only a part when their mated in to a pack. Allison makes sense, but Lydia, Kira and Danny..."

"What about me?" Stiles asked immediately, "I'm pack too, ya know."

"You're different," Derek dismissed.

"How?"

"You're the Druid. Scott's Emissary."

Stiles blinked, "No, Danny is Scott's Emissary."

Derek stared at Stiles, "But he's with Ethan."

"Remember me telling you to remind me to tell you about the formation of the pack?"

The werewolf paused for a moment, then nodded.

"That's part of it," Stiles scrubbed the mop over a particularly sticky something just under the table.

"Your pack is weird."

"That we are indeed," Stiles stood up, setting the mop in the bucket and surveying his work. Pretty decent, if he did say so himself, and he huffed in satisfaction, smiling at Derek, "You done?"

"What?"

"In dish," Stiles nodded behind Derek, "Do you need the bucket or are you done?"

"I--" Derek looked over his shoulder then back at Stiles, "I just need those," he motioned with his own head to Stiles' cooling bread, "Then I'll be done.”

“Cool,” Stiles turned to take the bucket back outside, but hesitated, “You need a ride? To where ever you’re staying, I mean.”

“No,” Derek’s face seamed to close, “I’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” Stiles shrugged, pretending it didn’t bother him, and went on his way.

He started to pay attention to Derek’s movements after that. Not in a creepy way, just when ever they were around each other, which admittedly turned out to be a lot. So much in fact, Stiles was seriously considering starting to cut down on his hours. Whatever, the point was, Stiles noticed Derek was almost always there before or as soon as anyone else showed up, and he didn’t leave until everyone who worked in the back was gone. Allison and the others who worked the counter rarely came into the kitchen once it was closed so they couldn’t tell Stiles where the guy ran off to, but Stiles had a feeling it wasn’t far.

“No one’s figured out where he lives,” Stiles addressed the pack one night after dinner at Lydia’s. Everyone was spread out across the living room, working off the rich coma dinner had sent them under.

“We tried following him,” Ethan drawled, slouched low on the couch, legs spread easily, “But we lost him in the preserve.”

“You _lost him_?”

“At least he’s not staying in the Factory District,” Scott pointed out, “The preserve is safer for him than town right now anyway.”

“That’s not helping the whole wild man look, dude,” Stiles crossed his arms, aggravation etched in every line of his body.

“He’s obviously keeping himself clean and fed. That’s all we can do right now.”

“Yeah, but—“

“If he wants more help, we’ll give it to him,” Danny said.

“But has anybody _asked_ him?” Stiles finally exploded, “The guy’s been on his own for who knows how long, he probably doesn’t even know how to—“

“Why don’t you?” Aiden snapped, “He barely talks to the rest of us anyway, so why don’t _you_ bite the bullet and talk to him about his feelings?”

“I’m just saying,” Stiles gritted, “He’s an unknown in our territory. We should be keeping an eye on him, right?”

“You do it,” Aiden said again, leaning back and closing his eyes, “I’m done chasing him.”

~~~

So Stiles did. Because Friday is Cake Day. And Danny was going to fire Greenberg whether he liked it or not.

Stiles stormed from the bakery, spitting fire as another crash rang out, “Danny!”

“He’s out!” Allison shouted through the window, taking away a full tray as she went.

Stiles growled, gnashing his teeth, “Derek!”

Derek poked his head around the dish machine.

“Come with me.”

Derek shot the twins a confused look, but they were too busy to give him more than a shrug. Stiles turned on his heel, reentering the fray, “Greenberg! Dish, now! Go!”

The guy hunched and scampered out of the back as Stiles turned to Derek, who looked even more confused, “You’re pouring.”

“What?”

“Isaac is wrapping,” Stiles nodded to the other man who nodded back, moving down the line to take over for Greenberg, “And you’re pouring. I’ll show you.”

Stiles pulled the scoop from the bowl and poured it into an available tin, “That easy. Don’t over fill them. If you have any questions just ask.”

Derek still looked a little confused so Stiles caught his eye and held it, “Okay?”

Something seemed to clear in Derek’s eyes at that and he nodded, looking more sure.

Stiles couldn’t help a smile, “Good.”

Six hours later they were done and Stiles could not have been happier if Greenberg really had been fired.

“You, my friend,” Stiles said, wrapping up the last of the cakes while Derek mopped around him, “Are no longer working in dish. Your talents are waisted. You are now permanently working back here.”

“Pouring batter isn’t exactly a hard skill to learn,” Derek pointed out, not looking up from wringing out the mop.

“Sure it is,” Stiles shrugged, sliding the wrapped cake on a sheet tray and pushing the tray onto a waiting rack, “You don’t over fill, the cakes don’t stick, you haven’t mixed up batters… trust me you’re doing great.”

Derek rolled his eyes at that, “It’s just cake, Stiles.”

Stiles grinned, “I’s never just cake, Derek.”

Isaac made a dry heaving noise as he brought another rack from deco, “You are disgusting and I’m going home.”

“Hey thanks for your help, asshole,” Stiles said cheerfully. Isaac didn’t even dignify him with an answer, just waved a hand over his shoulder and walked away.

“Okay thats it,” Stiles slapped his hands together, looking around, “Come on, let’s clock out, I’ll give you ride home.”

Stiles would have to be blind to miss how Derek stiffened, “I don’t need a ride.”

“Course you do,” Stiles said, “It’s freezing out.”

“It’s only 43 degrees.”

“Exactly. Freezing.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “I don’t need a ride, Stiles.”

“I know you don’t _need_ it,” Stiles shrugged, “I’m offering. And you’re accepting.”

“I’m not accepting.”

“You are accepting.” Stiles corrected, grabbing his jacket, “Come on.”

“Stiles—“

“Bring the bucket. We’ll dump it out before we leave.”

“Stiles, I said—“

“I heard you,” Stiles said, turning his full attention to Derek, “I just don’t care. Now come on.”

There was something battling behind Derek’s eyes and for all of a second, Stiles thought he’d made a critical error pushing Derek so far. Then the werewolf deflated, still looking angry, and followed Stiles to the time clock and out the back door. Stiles could’ve cheered. Instead, he unlocked the passenger side of his jeep as Derek dumped the bucket and climbed in to wait. Derek only took a moment longer, grudgingly climbing into the jeep before letting out a startled sniff. He looked in the back seat.

“Are those the same clothes?” he asked, incredulous.

“Uh,” Stiles glanced in the back seat, starting the jeep in the same motion, “From your last ride? Yeah, probably.”

Derek stared at him as they pulled into traffic. It got unsettling after the first five minutes. When _was_ the last time he cleaned in here? Did it smell? Oh god it probably smelled. And with Derek’s obvious nasal sensitivities, it was probably the most appalling odor in the norther hemisphere. He was probably offended.

“So!” Stiles said, derailing his thoughts as best he could, “Where to? Motel? Trailer park?”

Derek finally turned away from him, crossing his arms, “The preserve.”

Stiles nodded, letting the quiet settle companionably around them. It only took a few minutes to get to the edge of the preserve and Derek to say, “This is fine I can walk—“

“Dude,” Stiles said, “I told you I’d drive you home, the least you can do is let be actually drop you off at home.”

“Why are you pushing this?” Derek erupted.

“Whoa, why are you getting so defensive?” Stiles fired back, "It’s just a ride, Derek.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to see where I’m staying. Maybe I want to be left alone. _Maybe_ you’re pushing too hard.”

“Pushing too hard? I’m just taking you home!”

“I didn’t want you to!” Derek seemed to be panicking, eye flickering between the road and Stiles, his knuckles gripping tight to the console and door, “Just pull over and let me out."

“Seriously what could be so…” Stiles’ words faltered, pressing the break and stared ( _gaped_ ) at the clearing before him. Derek was out of the jeep and in the woods before Stiles could do anything more.

“Derek!” Stiles jerked in his seat, his seatbelt going tight before he could unlock it and stumble from the car, “Derek!”

But there was nothing. No one. Stiles ran a shaky hand through his hair and instantly climbed back into his car, muttering, “Oh my god,” As he threw it in reverse and pounded the gas.

~~~

Stiles burst into Scotts office ten minutes later.

Scott stood, “Stiles, what—“

“It’s Hale,” he said, cutting off his Alpha, “His name is Derek _Hale_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hi I am American and go by the Fahrenheit system thank you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this is a super short chapter.

Scott was supposed to look stunned.

He was supposed to gape and demand to know if Stiles was _sure_ , run his hand through his hair and call an emergency pack meeting. At least call Deaton and Danny.

Instead his best friend grimaced, “Don’t be mad.”

“You _knew?_ ” Stiles nearly shouted.

“Stiles, take a seat.”

Stiles slumped subconsciously into a chair, “How the hell did you know?”

“Deaton told me.”

“How the hell did _Deaton_ know?”

“He was the Emissary for the Hale Pack before it was destroyed,” Scott said, giving Stiles a _you know this_ look, “He recognized him when you brought him to the clinic.”

Stiles absorbed that for a moment, “So you lied to me. You said you didn’t know his name.”

“You asked if he'd _told me_ his name.”

“So you’re going to fall back on technicalities to get out of this?” Stile accused, glaring across the desk, “Dude, we’re supposed to be brothers. You’re supposed to tell me everything.”

“He asked us not to,” Scott replied, “And Danny, Deaton and I agreed.”

“Wh…” Stiles ran a hand through his hair, pissed and not sure why, “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Scott shrugged, “But I’m sure he has his reasons.”

Stiles scoffed, “Probably shitty reasons.”

“Stiles,” the reprimand was loud and clear, “Don’t be a dick, okay? He’s been out of touch for a long time, the least we can be is understanding.”

Stiles scoffed again, picking his nails and wiggling his leg. He refused to look at Scott. Then he stood, heading for the door.

“Hey.”

Stiles turned back.

“Just give him some time, alright?” Scott asked.

Stiles felt like he was holding his breath. Like his chest would explode with the pressure. He wanted to yell. He wanted to scream and throw things and he _didn’t know why_. So instead he took a deep breath and sighed with a nod, leaving before Scott could make him promise.

~~~

He gave Derek four hours.

By then he’d been able to go home, shower, and eat something. He didn’t remember any of it, but he did have a clean shirt on as he drove back through the preserve to the burnt out shell of a mansion, so he figured that was a plus. Stiles parked where he had earlier, just on the edge of the clearing and got out, throwing on an extra jacket from his back seat. He hesitated, remembering Derek talking about the funk all his clothes probably stank of, before pulling it on anyway. Might as well air it out.

“Derek!” he called, cupping his hands to his mouth, “Derek!”

There was no response. Not that he’d been expecting one. Any werewolf worth his salt would’ve heard Stiles’ jeep long ago. The shout was just a courtesy. Stiles shivered, huddling further in his jacket as he peered through the fading light. When the wind picked up he decided to move inside, grabbing the mag light from his trunk before heading up the crumbling steps. The whole house smelled like smoke and decay. Stiles clicked on the light, scanning the front hall. It must’ve been beautiful before the fire. Stiles could see a bit of crown molding clinging to the walls, some char on the floor almost reminded him of picture frames and the staircase… It was grand, but there was no way it was holding his weight now. He moved further into the house, to what could have been a living room if the fireplace was anything to go by. There was a moldy couch by the far wall, but otherwise the place was bare. Creepy bare. Stiles shivered again, turning back to the main hall. There was still no sign of Derek so Stiles went back to the front porch, where it had started to rain of all things. Stiles huffed, watching his breath and shrugging his jacket closer to his neck.

“Where the hell are you?” he muttered, thumping his head lightly on the door frame and seriously considering his life choices. Why was he here anyway? Derek had bolted almost as soon as they were within spitting distance of the house, obviously he didn’t want Stiles here. Obviously he didn’t want _anyone_ knowing he was here.

And yet.

Stiles couldn’t let it go. The house (what was left of it), was no place for Derek to stay. The ghosts were too thick here, the memories too strong. Stiles had no doubt he had to get Derek out of here. He just didn’t know where to begin.

“Why are you here?”

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin, turning so fast he almost fell. Derek reached out to steady him before withdrawing again, staring at Stiles expectantly. Almost angrily.

“I wanted to check on you.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed, “I’m fine. And you shouldn’t be here.”

“You shouldn’t either,” yeah that sounded a lot better in his head, “I mean this place is falling apart, it’ not safe—“

“I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah but you shouldn’t have to!” okay this whole shouting thing had to stop. Stiles took a deep breath, trying to sort though his feelings, “Look, I can’t leave you here, okay? This place _can’t_ be good for you.”

“How the hell would you know what’s good for me?” Derek snapped.

“I know this isn’t!” screw it, shouting was the only thing this idiot apparently responded to, “I know living in the freaking _remains of your childhood home_ is not good for your psyche!”

“That’s _my_ business,” Derek growled, eyes flashing.

“Yeah? Well it’s mine too!”

Wait. What?

Derek stared at Stiles blankly.

“I mean,” Stiles tried to back up, “We’re friends.”

What the hell was he talking about, Derek’s living situation was his business? Stiles shouldn’t even be here! He shouldn’t’ve pushed so hard to take Derek home. He shouldn’t’ve been so nosy, he should’ve…

What? He should’ve left the guy bleeding in the middle of the road? Stiles sighed, rubbing his face with his hand, “I’m sorry. You’re right, this isn’t any of my business.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” the admission was so quiet, Stiles almost missed it.

“W’ll,” Stiles hesitated, “You could stay with me.”

Derek shot him a look.

“Unless you plan on leaving town now,” Stiles amended quickly, his heart thumping at the prospect.

Derek shook his head and it felt like Stiles could breath again. Instead he shrugged, “Then why not? I’ve got a couch.”

“I can’t do that—“

“It won’t be permanent,” Stiles assured, fighting for calm, “You know, just until you save enough money to buy your own place, right?”

Now Derek hesitated, staring Stiles down like he expected him to say forget it or it was all just a joke. For once Stiles stayed absolutely silent.

“Right,” Derek finally croaked. It seemed to take more out of him than he expected as he ducked his head, “Right.”

Stiles felt high with relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, comments, questions, concerns and kudos are the fuel that keep the fire burning! Sorry this one is so short but I was writing it during last nights episode and....
> 
> Yeah. I needed to take a break. In a major way.
> 
> So here's to next chapter being a bit more fulfilling!
> 
> Cheers, y'all


	6. Chapter 6

No one should let Stiles make his own decisions. It's a recipe for disaster, like Fred telling Scoob and the gang that he has a plan. Everyone should just tell him to set whatever he's holding down and keep his hands by his sides because nothing, _nothing_ , good can come from it.

Like voluntelling a half wild man-beast to move into his apartment with him.

See? Not the best idea.

"Okay," Stilles huffed, dumping most of the clothes from his back seat in the hall next to the kitchen door, "Me casa es su casa, bro."

Derek didn't answer. In truth, Stiles didn't expect him to. The place was small (okay, not small, more like small _ish_... It's cozy, shut up), with a single window looking out onto the street in the living room, and a supremely comfortable couch (thank you, Dad), and a embarrassingly small TV perched precariously on a stack of milk crates. Then there was the kitchen, which was even dimmer than the living room, and only contained enough space for a fridge, stove, and sink. There was barely enough counter space for Stile's bread and bananas, let alone a table and chairs (he mostly ate standing or in his car anyway), then down the narrow hall (shit the light was out again, great) was his bedroom, the tiny bathroom across the way, and a closet barely big enough to hold the stuff Stiles deigned to hang up.

Okay so the place was terrible, but it was all he could afford when he moved out of his dad's and with all the hours he's been logging at the bakery since, finding a new place hadn't been real high on his priority list like say, sleeping.

Stiles turned to Derek to make sure he hadn't fled just yet, which he hadn't, and said, "Okay I know what you're thinking..."

Derek looked around the small space before turning his attention back to Stiles, forehead furrowed as if to say, _Really?_

"It's not the Ritz or anything, but it's warm, there's basic cable, and the whole place smells like cake."

Derek didn't look impressed, but Stiles decided not to let it stress him out.

"So!" Stiles clapped his hands, "You're welcome to the couch, obviously. I've only got two pillows though so I'll give you one of them, and I'm pretty sure I've got clean sheets somewhere in my room, I'll dig those out for you oh shit except all that stuff smells like me," he paused, hands clasped, eyes wandering to the pile of clothes, "I'll just have to do a load tonight no problemo. So you park it on the couch, I'm pretty sure there's something good on CBS or whatever, and I'll go do this real quick, then we can, like, order a pizza or something..."

Derek was staring around the room again, his shoulders tense.

"Everything okay?"

"You don't have to do all that," Derek said, ignoring Stile's question.

"Uh," Stiles gave him a weird look, "Yeah, man, I kinda do."

"No, you really don't."

"Derek," Stiles said, voice going sharp, "I'm trying to help. _Let me_ help."

"You already--"

"Shut up." Stiles cut in, "Seriously. It's a couch, not a bentley. Just take it."

Derek stiffened again, but didn't answer this time. Stile's rubbed his face with a hand, his day suddenly catching up with him, "Look, I'm just gonna run down and start a load. And," he hesitated, half bent collecting everything off the floor, "Scott always thinks it's suffocating in here, something about--"

"Amaretto," Derek finished, "I smell it."

"Yeah," Stiles heart sank at the implication. Jesus he was going to have to scrub this place for a _week_ , "If it get's bad, just open the window. There's a fire escape out there you can sit on."

At the door, Stiles turned back once more, "I don't actually have any, um, amaretto. I think it's just the building, so..."

Stiles couldn't think of anything else to say so he slipped from the apartment, leaving the awkward silence to linger. Twenty minutes later, he remembered he'd forgotten the sheets and pillow case to wash, so he trudged back to his apartment, slightly embarrassed and tried to walk in as silently as possible. He didn't have to worry, however, because as soon as the door was open, Stiles could hear a feint breathy rumble emanating from the couch. Blinking, he crept around and yeah, that was a sleeping werewolf. The guy still looks tense, his arms crossing his chest, his back pressed firmly in the crease of the cushions, but completely dead to the world. Stiles was pretty sure only a minor earthquake could wake him right now and smiled. He grabbed what he could find and went back to the laundry room.

~~~

"What the hell _is_ that?" Aiden's eyes were thin, nostrils flared.

"What?" Stiles asked absently, measuring out batter for the next batch of muffins.

"Dude you smell."

Stiles looked up at that, "Uh," he said, trying to remember if he showered that morning (he had, the water heater in his building was out again), "Sorry?"

“”I mean, how much fabric softener did you _use_?”

Stiles straightened at that, “Great, I get crap when I smell like me and I get crap when I finally get around to doing laundry.”

“Your smell I can handle,” Aiden told him, “But _that_ is just toxic.”

Stiles flipped him off and got back to work.

~~~

“Stiles—“

“It’s not that big a deal, Scott.”

“You know it could’ve happened way different, right?”

Stiles pulled the label off his beer, determinedly not looking at his best friend, “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t’ve hurt me.”

“Pretty sure isn’t definitely sure, dude,” Scott reprimanded lightly, “He could’ve killed you for going into his territory.”

“But he didn’t,” Stiles pointed out, “Probably because he knew you’d avenge me.”

Scott snorted, “Sure.”

“Sure?” Stiles looked at Scott incredulously, “Are you saying you wouldn’t kill him for killing me?”

“I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t kill you in the first place. I’m pretty sure he’s lonely.”

Stiles let out a huff, taking another drag from his beer, “So why did you bring it up like he would hurt me?”

“Because I want to make sure your head is on straight,” Scott explained, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but ever since Derek first showed up you’ve kinda latched on to him.”

Stiles opened his mouth to discredit that, but paused, actually thinking it through, “Like you said, he needs a friend.”

“So you gave him the couch.”

“It’s a very comfortable couch.”

“It’s a big step in friendship.”

Stiles gave Scott a shrewd smile, “You’re an asshole.”

“Is he paying rent?”

“Not yet, I figured I’d let him save some money first.”

Scott grunted, “Smart.”

The two sat in companionable silence for a moment, “Wait, Derek doesn’t have any territory, he’s an Omega.”

“I know,” Scott said after taking a long pull from his beer, “I was hoping you missed that.”

“Asshole!” Stiles punched Scott’s arm as the Alpha laughed.

~~~

Derek apparently smells like burnt leather. Stiles wouldn’t really know this, but Erica says something about it in passing when she’s picking up lunch for Boyd and herself.

“It’s not bad,” she explains, making a quiet ‘ouch!’ when she pulls a too hot muffin straight from the tin (it was Thursday, but they were coming up on a holiday and Stiles didn’t want to front to run out of anything so he was making extras), “Just different.”

Stiles wouldn’t know. He and Derek had been living with each other for a few weeks now and yeah they’d found a rhythm at home, but Derek was still quiet and distant, as if he thought any second Stiles would throw him out and he wanted to be ready. The couch was neutral territory until eight, then Stiles would get up from watching truly terrible TV next to his kinda-roommate/ house guest and go to bed. Ish. Stiles hasn’t slept well in a long time. Regardless, the closest Stile could ever get to knowing what Derek smelled like was on that couch and to Stiles, the guy smelled like man: earthy, sharp, and red.

Okay so red wasn’t a scent descriptor, but that’s the only way Stiles could think to describe it. Maybe that was the burt leather smell Erica was talking about.

“What do I smell like?”

Derek shifted on the couch, but Stiles didn’t look at him, just kept staring at an old episode of Castle.

“Cake,” Derek said flatly. Stiles snorted, but let it go. It was a weird question anyway.

“Sometimes you smell like apricots.”

Stiles finally turned to his couch mate, “Really? People can change scents?”

“No,” Derek replied, now _he_ wouldn’t look away from the TV, “But certain situations bring it out.”

“Like when?”

“After you’ve been with your dad it’s strong. Sometimes after you’ve taken a shower…” Derek shrugged, his ears turning slightly pink.

“Huh,” Stiles thought about that, facing the TV, “Erica said you smelled like burnt leather.”

“Charming,” he didn’t sound happy at the news.

“I think you just smell like a guy so…” this time, Stiles shrugged, “Obviously you won’t offend me, dude.”

Derek turned to face him, but before he could do anything else Stiles excused himself to go to bed.

It had been a stupid question anyway.

~~~

“Derek.”

The calm command in the Alpha’s voice made all heads in the bakery rise. Scott stood in the door, more imposing than usual, “Come with me, please.”

Derek hurriedly pulled off his apron and threw it on the table.

“What’s—“

“You should come too, Stiles,” Scott cut in. He turned and Stiles gave Isaac a confused look. The werewolf looked just as worried as Stiles but nodded when he directed, “Just pull what’s in the ovens as they come out. We’ll be quick.”

Only Stiles wasn’t sure that would actually be the case. As they made their way to Danny’s office, he could see the tension building in Derek’s shoulders. Scott’s dark mood didn’t dissipate as he led everyone into the small office. Danny was already there, sitting behind the desk. Erica was in uniform, standing by the high windows to Danny’s right and Scott decided to lean on the corner, making sure not to block the other’s view.

“Take a seat, Derek,” Scott said calmly. Derek sat. Stiles stood at his elbow, “Scott what’s going on?”

Scott took a deep breath before beginning, “Earlier this morning, some hikers found a body on the preserve.”

Derek went completely still, not even daring to breath.

“It was ripped in half,” Scott continued, not breaking eye contact with the Omega, “We’re waiting for DNA confirmation, but we believe it to be Laura Hale."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A WILD PLOT APPEARS!  
> WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?
> 
> > FIGHT  
> > RUN  
> > PULL A JEFF DAVIS  
> >>> GET THIS PARTY STARTED


	7. Chapter 7

They didn’t talk the entire ride home. Derek was like a robot, only moving when Stiles pulled or pressed him forward. Inside the apartment, Derek just stood there, not seeing anything, looking lost. Stile didn’t know what to do. He remembered his mother’s death, years and years ago. How he’d wanted to cry and scream and thank God and curse Him and demand her back… 

Stiles thought he’d go to _Hell_ just to get her back.

But that was different. Stile’s mother had slowly deteriorated. He and his father had known what would happen.

Stiles wasn’t sure Derek had even known his sister was alive.

Slowly, so slowly, Stiles pressed a gentle touch to Derek’s arm. Instead of scaring him, as he’d feared, Derek turned, still looking numb and lost. He seemed to be searching for words, trying to find them in Stiles eyes, his face…

“I thought she got away,” he finally whispered. His voice cracked and it was like a physical break. Tears spilled down his face and Stiles didn’t even hesitate. He hauled Derek to his chest, pressing hard into his body, trying to give as much contact as he could as the older man lost it, silently sobbing into Stiles' shoulder. He could feel Derek’s breath, hot and wet against his collarbone, his hands digging hard into Stiles’ jacket like it was the only thing keeping him there. Stiles didn’t say a word, just cradled Derek’s head while he cried, keeping his hands, fingers spread, on his back and neck. He didn’t whisper soothing nonsense, he didn’t tell him everything would be all right, he didn’t try to coax him to stop. Stiles knew loss. He knew, for now, nothing would sooth Derek. So he stood, quietly taking more and more of the werewolf’s weight, until he finally pulled away, rubbing his face, refusing to meet Stiles' eyes.

Stiles dropped his hold on Derek and let him move further into the living room, sinking on the couch where he buried his head in his hands. Stiles left him for a moment, going into the kitchen to get a glass of water, but when he returned the room was empty and the window was open. 

The fire escape was empty too.

This time, Stiles didn’t go after him.

~~~

Stiles woke up early the next morning after only four hours of sleep. He’d puttered around the night before, changing the bulb in the hall, doing the rest of his laundry, and general cleaning of the apartment as he waited for Derek to return. For some reason there had been no doubt in his mind he’d come back, even though Stiles had a hard time thinking of a reason he should. If Stiles were him, he’d be searching for his sister’s killer. Maybe trying to find the other half of her body.

Maybe he was with Scott, asking to help the search, but after so long by himself Stiles couldn’t see him asking for anything, especially for something so personal.

_I thought she got away_.

The words reverberated through Stiles head as he pulled into Bad Dog’s parking lot at 4 am. He went in, subconsciously turning on the ovens and going for the days bake list. It had been a long time since he’d started so early, but he’d been baking for so long he didn’t realize he was on auto pilot until he called for someone to grab him another bag of flower only to be greeted by silence. Stiles blinked, looking up for probably the first time only to realize it was five in the morning and he was well and truly alone. He looked back at the scone dough he’d been diligently preparing, then the bake list distinctly labeled “Monday” and back at the dough.

It was Saturday.

Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing himself not to throw an hour’s worth of work across the room because he’d been distracted. Instead he hauled the giant bowl onto the table and scooped it all into a pan for Monday (because that’s what responsible people did), then dumped the bowl in dish, the dough in the walk-in, and started the coffee. He flipped on all the lights, set down the chairs, and wheeled out the baked goods Allison would need for the morning crowd. He started the next carafe and looked at the clock. 5:30. He went to dish and washed out the bowl stacking it with the rest. 5:42. 

Damn, he really sucked at waisting time. 

Finally, with nothing better to do and no one showing up for another 45 minutes, Stiles pulled down an old notebook over the microwave and idly flipped through the creased pages. The notebook had been Lydia’s idea of a bonding exercise when the bakery had first opened: everyone brought a family recipe (in some instances, something they printed off the internet) and wrote it up for potential use in later years. The twins had written out a surprising number of soups, Danny had brought forth “Lover Boys” which was apparently some sort of filled croissant thing, Lydia (to no one’s surprise) stapled in a simple recipe for chocolate macadamia nut cookies, and Kira had even added her mother’s peach wagashi recipe. Stiles flipped towards the back, where Scott (at his mother’s request) had taped an old page from a different, much more professional, cookbook and laid the book on the table, studying the pages before going to the front for a few ingredients.

By the time his first intruder arrived, Stiles was starting his first batch, pinching the little seams closed and setting it on a tray to bake later. He hadn’t expected Derek, but then again, maybe he had. Stiles motioned to the tray he was just finishing and said, “These need a wash.”

Derek didn’t even nod, just walked to Stiles’ opposite side and grabbed the bowl of scrambled egg to brush over the tops. They worked in silence for a moment, until Derek asked, “What are these?”

“Cornish pasties,” Stiles replied, setting the last one on the tray, “Scott’s mom’s recipe. Apparently her grandmother used to make them all the time.”

Derek hummed, continuing his brushing as Stiles continued to fill.

“When Scott and I were in high school,” Stiles said, trying to keep his tone light, “A girl went missing on the preserve. I actually knew her, our moms used to be best friends. Her name was Heather,” Stiles dug his fingers in the dough, “Scott and I went looking for her. Not with a search party or anything, my dad would’ve had a fit, but we went out there, by ourselves…” Stiles packed another pastie, pinching it shut, “It was stupid. Like, _really_ stupid. The Alpha…” Stiles took a deep breath, sucking it in through his nose before pulling off another piece of dough. It had been a long time since he’d talked about this, “The Alpha got Scott. She was trying to create a new pack, but she was feral. She got a bunch of random kids before Chris Argent put her down. Broke a lot of people.”

“How many did she get?” Derek asked quietly.

"Seven including Heather,” Stiles replied, “Scott, Boyd, Isaac, Erica, Jackson (whom I hope you never have to meet that guy is a douche bag), and Lydia.”

“Lydia?”

“Yeah,” Stiles couldn’t help a chuckle at that, “That’s when we found out she’s a banshee. And that Jackson hadn’t fully accepted himself or whatever and turned into a Kanima.”

Derek didn’t seem to know what to say so Stiles continued, “Then this Darach comes a long… apparently it was coming for the Alpha because it was pissed when it found out she was dead and decided to take it out on us. All of us,” Stiles moved around Derek, pushing the tray down the table to begin a new one. He could hear the twins moving around the kitchen, but they didn’t come in the back so Stiles let them be, “And that’s when we found out Scott was a True Alpha. I mean, we’d all kinda banded around him anyway but when he broke through that mountain ash circle…”

“He what?” Derek looked shocked at that and Stiles smiled.

“Hell yeah man. You should’ve seen the Darach’s face. Then it lunges at Scott and Jackson just tackles it, completely shreds it. We were still trying to work out the whole Kanima thing, Jackson couldn’t control it, but when he attacked the Darach it stabbed him, almost tore him completely in half before dying,” Stiles shook his head, “Deaton’s still trying to figure out how he survived. But the Kanima part of him was gone, the Darach was gone… We found Kira almost by accident, she was showing qualities of a Kitsune so Scott took her under his wing. And the twins had heard about an Alpha and stumbled into town. God they were a mess. Hell, they _are_ a mess.”

“We can hear you Stilinski!” Ethan shouted through the door.

Stiles ignored them, a small smug smile pulling at his lips, “But we became a family. And this place,” Stiles motioned to the ovens, mixers, bins, and pans around them, “became our home.”

There was a moment of quiet while Stiles resumed his work, feeling Derek’s eyes bore into his neck, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Same reason I’m making cornish pasties at seven in the morning I guess,” Stiles shrugged, “I wanted to.”

~~~

Stiles finished around 10. He scrubbed up, clocked out, and asked Derek if he needed a ride. The werewolf accepted and Stiles _did not_ nearly pee himself with relief. Instead they climbed in Stiles’ jeep and drove home. Stiles’ home, not Derek’s. It was pretty doubtful Derek thought the nasty little apartment was his _anything_ , let alone home. He slept on the couch for christ sake.

“You cleaned,” Derek commented when they walked in. Stiles shrugged, taking his shoes off at the door for the first time probably ever (he’d worked _really hard_ on these floors, okay? He was going to enjoy it while it lasted).

“I had the time,” was Stiles absent reply, “You want some?” He held out the small take-out bag he’d packed with uncooked pasties.

Derek just nodded so Stiles stepped into his cramped kitchen to start the tiny oven. While he waited for it to heat up he pulled two beers from the fridge and went back to the living room. Derek actually _was_ on the couch this time and hey he’d even removed his shoes. Stiles handed the bottle over, “Hope you like IPAs.”

Derek shrugged, but didn’t open it. Stiles took a seat next to him, leaning back as he took a pull from his own bottle. The day was shockingly sunny for how cold it was (hovering around the low 30s because cold fronts are a bitch) and Stiles could see clear across to the trees three streets down. They were starting to bloom which Stiles couldn’t help thinking was a little ambitious for so early in the season. He took another sip as the oven went off and set his beer on the floor to take care of the pasties. This time when Stiles took his seat, Derek had his beer open and half drunk. He looked tired, but held up the beer as he said, “This is terrible.”

Stiles snorted, pressing his bottle to his lips, “Your opinion is terrible.”

Derek huffed a laugh, working his finger absently under the label. He was doing the no eye contact thing again. 

“Listen,” Stiles said, rolling his bottle between his hands, “You don’t have to talk to me or anything, but if you want to… I here. Just so you know.”

“I know,” Derek replied, sending a short glance his way, “Thank you.”

Stiles nodded, not sure what else to say or do. In the end, he just sat there, slumped in the couch as Derek leaned forward, almost hunched over his bottle. The timer went off and Stiles went to check their food. When he turned around, plate in hand, Derek was in the doorway, blocking it as he watched Stiles.

“I was held captive for over a year.”

It was said so quickly, Stiles thought at first he’d misheard, but then Derek continued, “Laura and I thought we were the only ones left after the fire. We went to New York, started new lives, but we got word. There were other survivors.”

“Others?” Stiles clamped his mouth shut as soon as he said it, not wanting to intimidate him with questions. But Derek only nodded.

“We came back to look for them,” and here he halted longer, as if every word was a force of will, “And we found them.”

“Who? Where are they?” Stiles hadn’t realized he’d stepped forward until Derek stepped back.

“My little sister, Cora. And a cousin of ours. I don’t know where they are. I thought… I thought…”

_I thought she got away_.

“I need to find them,” Derek’s words were stronger this time, and when he looked up Stiles could see the tinge of fire, that anger and fear he’d noticed on the picnic table when they’d met what felt like years ago.

“You’ll need help.”

“I can’t ask that.”

“You’re not asking,” Stiles replied, shoving the plate at Derek so he could either catch it or wear it.

“Stiles, stop.”

“You should really know by now that doesn’t work,” Stiles reached for his phone only to have it snatched from his grip.

“You can’t involve the pack,” Derek said severely, “I can’t let anyone else get hurt.”

“You know all this ‘can’t’ is making me itchy,” Stiles snapped, “I’m calling Scott. Whether I use my phone or drive to the damn preserve, he’s going to know.”

“You _can’t_ ,” and if Stiles hadn’t been so angry he probably would’ve noticed the hint of panic building in Derek’s voice. 

Instead he blew up, “ _Why_? What is so important that I can’t tell my pack you and three other family members were _tortured_ for _over a year_ in our own _town_ without us noticing?”

“Because—“ the words literally fought their way out, “ _Because it’s an Alpha Pack_.”

Stiles blinked, totally thrown out of his anger, “What? That’s possible?”

“Yes it’s possible,” those words seemed to break something open in Derek. He seemed angrier, more on edge, “And they will kill everyone in their path.”

“Why do they want you?”

“Because my uncle wants to join _them_!”

“Wait, your uncle?”

“ _Yes_!” he said, roaring so loud Stiles jumped and took a step back. Derek’s eyes were that pale icy blue again, “He kidnapped us and tortured us to save himself! He didn’t want a new pack he wanted power! He wanted _our power_ and he took it! He t—“

Derek’s breathing became ragged, he ran a hand through his hair in a way Stiles had never seen him do before and bent at the waist. Stiles moved instantly forward when Derek dropped his phone, but not to retrieve it. Instead he hustled him to the couch, squatted in front of him and said, “Derek, listen to me. Look at my face.”

Derek’s eyes snapped to his.

“You’re having a panic attack. I need you to breath with me so we can calm you down, okay? Just take deep breaths with me. In,” Stiles took a deep breath in, “Out,” he pushed it out with one long gust, “I need you to try alright? Feel me breathe—“ he grabbed Derek’s hand and pressed it hard to his chest, pressing his own hand to Derek’s, “In. And Out. In…”

Derek slowly took deeper and deeper breaths, his hand twisting into Stiles' shirt like he would be ripped away any moment, “Don’t— Don’t—“

“It’s okay, don’t talk, just focus on breathing.”

“No,” Derek gulped, almost jerking Stiles to his knees, his other hand scrabbling for purchase finally landing on Stiles’ shoulder, “No one else can die.”

“No one else will,” Stiles replied, grabbing and holding Derek’s wrist by his cheek, “I promise.”

Derek had already started shaking his head, “You don’t know that. You don’t—“ Derek closed his eyes, focusing on each breath again, “Peter will kill anyone.”

“Then we’ll kill him first,” Stiles replied, his voice like calm steal.

“You can’t stop him.”

“My pack can.”

“They’re _Alphas_ , Stiles.”

“They _bleed_ , Derek,” Stiles admonished.

Derek was shaking his head again, “It’s not that simple.”

Stiles let out a long breath, relaxing back a little bit, but holding Derek’s hand where it was on his shoulder. Because who was he kidding.

“I know,” he said, squeezing Derek’s wrist before pulling fully away and rising to his feet.

“Where are you going?”

“To call Scott,” Stiles replied, picking his phone from the floor.

“Stiles—“

“If my friends are in danger due to an unknown threat and I don’t tell them, then I am the lowest form of life,” Stiles looked up from his phone, thumb hesitating over the call button, “Let me do this, Derek.”

Derek seemed at a loss, he stared at Stiles for a long moment, lips parted. Something seemed to settle between them when Derek finally closed his mouth, but Stiles couldn’t tell if it was a bridge or a wall. 

Derek nodded.

Stiles pressed send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, questions, comments, concerns, and kudos always appreciated and please please PLEASE If you see any problems either continuity or word or otherwise PLEASE tell me and I will fix it.
> 
> Oh and also shout out to skeptic7 who asked for the pasties! Sorry no one got to eat them though....


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eh heh.
> 
> hiiiiiiii.
> 
> sorry about the wait...
> 
> of two months...
> 
> (don't look at me I'm ashamed)

It was like the world was fully aware of how desperate a situation the Beacon Hills Pack was in. Not 24 hours after Stiles called Scott, the cold snap that had held an almost death grip on northern California broke and the heat came rushing in.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Erica said when she stopped in the back one day, “How do you _survive_?”

Stiles looked up from the Challah bread he’d been braiding and smiled. He was already sweating through his shirt, his basketball shorts sticking to his thighs very unattractively and he’d finally caved to wearing his crocs. The high was 76 which made it in the early 90s by the ovens and Stiles was in _heaven_.

“Want some raisin bread?” he asked.

“You are sick,” Erica replied, taking the offered gift.

“Hey bring me that honey stuff from the farmers market!” he called as he started working again, then paused to follow with, “Not the one with the blackberries! Hey!”

But she was gone by the time he’d made it through the back door. Stiles huffed, figuring she probably heard him. He turned to go back inside, but looked back when he heard a cough.

“Excuse me,” the man said, looking sheepish, “Sorry, is this Bad Dog Bakery?”

“Around the front it is,” Stiles replied, looking the guy over. He was used to the homeless knocking on the back door for scraps, food that was still good but wouldn’t last the night, but this guy didn’t fit the image. He was wearing dark slacks and a button up shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Stiles wouldn’t say he was casual in his stance, but almost lazy and in control. Like he knew something Stiles didn’t. That was his first tip this guy was far from good news.

“Right,” the man smiled, taking a step closer and raising his hand as if to shake, “And are you Stiles?”

Stiles didn't immediately reach out to accept the gesture. He was tall, a few inches over Stiles, and he was broad, built like a brick house. His smile reached his eyes, but instead of warming them, it seamed to make them colder.

“The baker?” he tried again when Stiles hesitated too long, “Am I wrong?”

“Sorry,” Stiles took a step back through the doorway, “No customers through the back, you’ll have to got around front,” then he shut the door heavily as the man gave him a look of surprised confusion. Stiles took his hands off the door as soon as the latch clicked. The ovens were too loud for anyone to hear the way his heart was racing, he knew that even as he took another step back. He took a few slow deep breaths, trying to calm down and understand what he’d just seen.

“Hey.”

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin when Derek spoke.

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Stiles breathed, running his hand over the bandana keeping back his hair.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked immediately. Stiles opened his mouth to answer, but Derek moved him to the side and pressed back through the door, the crash bar clanging loudly. Stiles followed him immediately, but the man— the werewolf, there was nothing else he _could’ve_ been (well there was, but Stiles was pretty sure he was just a werewolf)— was gone. Derek’s head swiveled, eyes glaring around the small patio with it’s picnic table and empty parking lot.

“Who was here?” Derek asked as soon as his eyes landed on Stiles.

“I don’t know,” he replied, looking around too, “A guy. A werewolf. I’d never seen him before.”

“A _werewolf_?” Derek said incredulously, crowding Stiles’ space, “Did he try anything?”

“Whoa, dude! Jeeze!” Stiles took a step back, “No! He tried to shake my hand, but I went back inside. Told him to go around front if he wanted to talk to someone.”

“Stiles, this is very important,” Derek tried to keep his distance, but seemed to almost lean into Stiles’, “What did he look like? Was he blind?”

“What?” Stiles screwed his face in confusion, “No, his eyes were fine. He was business casual.”

“Okay,” Derek took another look around the abandoned parking lot before shepparding Stiles, “Get back inside.”

“Who was that? Was that your—?”

Derek grabbed Stiles by the arm and handled him through the door, “I don’t know, just get back inside.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“The bread is too strong, I can’t smell him. Stay here. Keep working.”

“Hey, where are you going?”

“To talk to Danny, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, I’ll—“

“Stay here,” Derek said again, blocking the door, “Please.”

Stiles blinked, trying to remember if Derek had ever said _please_ to him before.

~~~

There was a quote Stiles liked to remember at times like this. Times like this being times where Scott watched him like a hawk, Lydia was put on semi-lock down (because trying to put Lydia on _full_ lockdown was just begging for trouble) in case her banshee senses tingled, and Kira stuck to Allison like glue. Except trade Scott for Derek and give Kira the nights off because they were no longer in high school no matter how much the situations seemed familiar.

A watched pot never boils.

That’s it. That’s the quote.

“Derek, seriously, back up,” Stiles said one night, frustration pouring off him in waves, “It’s laundry, not the end of days.”

Derek only grunted in return, finally closing the lid to the washer when he’d decided there really _were_ no kelpies or whatever swimming among the t-shirts and boxers. 

“And lay off the guard dog schtick, alright?” Stiles continued as a waded through a pile of still warm clothes.

“Scott told me to keep you safe,” Derek reminded him, leaning against the table Stiles was folding at.

“I know what Scott told you. But _I’m_ telling you you need to chill out.”

“I’m fine.”

Stiles snorted, “Be helpful and match the socks.”

Derek moved to his other side and started pawing through the clothes, making a smaller pile for himself.

“Good boy,” Stiles mumbled.

Derek paused, “Did you seriously just say that?”

“Hey, you said you wouldn’t lay off the Ultimate Protector crap.”

“And you think treating me like a dog will stop me?”

“Will it?” Stiles asked, fighting his grin as he looked up.

Derek glared, “No.”

~~~

The next pack meeting Stiles brought brownies. And Derek.

“Seriously, dude, you gotta stop, you’re making us fat,” Isaac accused, working on his third brownie. Kira nodded seriously, mouth full and crumbs stuck to her cheek.

“So what’s the word?” Stiles asked, leaning back, trying to make eyebrows at Derek to take a seat. The Omega ignored him, keeping his arms crossed and his position by the door.

“Nothing,” Erica replied, passing half her brownie to Boyd, “We’ve been sending out twice the number of patrols, but we can’t mandate a curfew because no one else has been killed. It looks like a random cougar attack to most people.”

“What about the man who talked to Stiles?” Allison asked.

Danny shrugged, “We’ve got him on camera, but he must’ve known where it was. I never got a good shot of his face.”

“It’s Peter,” every head turned to Derek and he tried not to shift.

“You’re sure?” Scott asked.

Derek gave a tight lipped nod, his face slowly going crimson with the attention. Scott nodded back, then turning to the group, “Do we have word on anyone new in town?”

“No one out of the norm,” Boyd replied, “Whoever these guys are, they’re laying low.”

“Very low,” Erica agree, “I haven’t even _smelled_ anyone out of the ordinary.”

“Okay,” Scott sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Allison, leaning on the arm of his chair, rubbing his back gently.

“Nothing changes,” he said when he finally looked up, “We’re still on high alert until this pack makes a move. I don’t want anyone on there own, am I clear?”

There were murmurs of assent around the room so Scott continued, “Kira. Pack a bag, you and Lydia are officially roommates. Ethan and Aiden—“

“Sticking to each other like glue,” Aiden said, fist bumping his brother. Ethan looked a little less enthused, “Who’s staying with Danny?”

“Me,” Isaac said, wiping his hand on his pants before raising it. Scott nodded, “Erica’s with Boyd and I’ve got Allison. Derek?”

Derek jerked his head in acknowledgment, “I’ve got Stiles.”

“Uh,” Stiles chimed in, “Technically I’ve got _you_ , big guy.”

“Either way,” Scott cut in over Derek’s incredulous eyebrow, “We’re sticking together. If you can’t be with your partner, try to stick to crowded areas, and if you see anything, call it in.”

Everyone agreed and the meeting soon broke up.

~~~

“Stiles!”

Stiles stuck his head out of the shower, rubbing water from his eyes, “Dad?”

“Come here, please!”

Stiles quickly scrambled from the shower, barely drying off before trotting down the hall in a towel. His dad was standing by his front door, arms crossed. Derek was standing much in the same position by the couch, body turned slightly away from the Sheriff. He was clad in Stiles’ old sweat pants and the biggest shirt Stiles could find. His dad’s eyebrows rose at his son's state of dress and Stiles instantly knew what he was thinking.

“Dad,” he said, standing his ground, “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I just got a call from Boyd filling me in on the situation,” the Sheriff explained, still eyeing Derek, “I figured I’d stop by to check on you. Didn’t realize you had company.”

“Not,” Stiles said with a slight wince, “What it looks like.”

“Oh?” his dad had the Cop Look. The one that made him feel ten years old all over again.

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his damp hair, “Derek is staying on my couch for a while.”

“Derek?” the Sheriff turned back to the werewolf, “Hale?”

“Yes, sir,” Derek said, finally meeting the Sheriff’s eyes.

“The Omega?”

“Yes, sir."

All the sudden the tension in the room dropped. John gave Derek a compassionate look, “I’m sorry about your sister.”

Derek’s eyes dropped instantly to the floor, but he nodded.

The Sheriff sighed, looking back to his son, “He’ll keep you safe?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, sure his face was about to burst into flames if it got any hotter, “Yeah, Dad, he’ll keep me safe.”

“Good,” John turned back to Derek, finger pointing, “I’m holding you to that.”

“Yes, sir,” Derek replied, his arms were still crossed but he looked less hostile, more determined as he spoke.

John grunted in approval before turning to his son and pulling him into a hug, “Be good.”

“You too.”

John gave him a brief peck on his hairline and turned to go, “Oh,” he turned back to Derek, looking a little sheepish, “And sorry for the…”

“No problem,” Derek replied shortly (his own face rising in color, Stiles noted).

John nodded, “Goodnight, you two.”

Stiles locked the door behind his dad, turning to Derek who was looking uncomfortable again.

“So,” Stiles waves his hand a bit before knocking his knuckles against the door, “That was my dad.”

“I noticed,” Derek commented, eyes flicking up briefly, “Nice guy.”

Stiles shrugged with a smile, “He has his perks.”

~~~

It wasn’t until hours later Stiles realized he’d never told his dad Derek’s last name. Or his pack status.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> questions, comments, concerns, kudos, [tumblr](http://boomsnapwhist.tumblr.com)!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ON A TRAIN I'M HEADING FOR BOSTON I'M FEELING A LITTLE SICK HERE'S A QUICK CHAPTER I LOVE YOU ENJOY

“Did you tell my dad about Derek?”

Scott looked up from his desk, mild confusion playing over his features, “Yeah, why? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Got done early,” Stiles slumped into the only other chair in the office.

“Where’s Derek?”

Stiles gave him a weird look, “Still at work.”

“You know you’re supposed to stay with another member of the pack, right?” Scott asked, keeping his tone light with an undertone of reprimand.

Stiles felt a small twinge of guilt, but played it off, “What are you talking about? I’m with you, dude.”

Scott gave him a rueful smile, “That’s not my point.”

“Look, I wanted to talk to you without Der around.”

“Der?”

“I need you to call him off.”

“What?”

“He’s been extra clingy since your mandate and I just,” Stiles tried to cast around for the right words, “I just need him to back up for a bit you know?”

“Uh,” Scott looked at him like he was crazy, “No, I really don’t.”

Stiles gave him an exasperated look, “Look, I don’t want people getting the wrong idea about us, okay? I mean my dad came over last night and I’m pretty sure he accused Derek of being my fuck buddy or something.”

“I’m pretty sure he wasn’t that crass.”

“W’ll yeah, of course not, he’s my dad, but that’s not the point.”

“What is the point, Stiles?” Scott asked, leaning back and rubbing his eyes for a moment, “This whole beating around the bush thing is making my head hurt.”

“I like him,” Stiles blurted, his face going red, “More than platonically. And I can’t be… professional or whatever, if everyone is giving him the third degree.”

Scott gaped for a moment, “Wait you…”

“Like,” Stiles deadpanned, “ _Like_ like. Helga G Patacki Like.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah. So he can’t know.”

“Why not?”

“ _Why not?_ ”

“I mean, you’ve never had problems telling people your feelings before.”

“That was in _high school_ , Scott,” Stiles hissed, looking around as if there were spies in the little office, “I was a _teenager_. I only thought with one head and it was not on my shoulders.”

“Gross,” Scott laughed.

“This is the _real world_ , okay? People pay rent and utilities and insurance and work too much. He’s my _friend_. He’s under _my protection_. I can’t abuse that for a booty call.”

“ _Would_ it be a booty call?” Scott asked curiously.

Stiles opened his mouth to confirm, then actually thought about it, “That’s not the point.”

“So it would be more than a booty call.”

“That’s not the _point_ , Scott!”

“Okay, okay,” Scott raised his hand placatingly, “I’ll just switch some people around, no big deal. Isaac will stay with you—“

“What?”

“— and Derek will stay with Danny.”

“No!” Stiles said, “That’s a terrible idea!”

“I’m not seeing many other options here, Stiles. If you want him gone—“

“I don’t want him gone, I just want him to back up! Jesus man, weren’t you listening?”

Scott put on a confused air, “That’s the only way I can make him back up, dude. Unless you want to talk to him.”

“No,” Stiles sat back in his seat, crossing his arms, “Bad idea.”

“Why?”

“I—“ Stiles tried to articulate, one arm waving, “What am I supposed to say? Hey Derek I have a big fat crush on you and your inability to keep a three foot perimeter from my person is only making it worse?”

“With a little tweaking I don’t see why not.”

“No!” Stiles looked at his best friend in something akin to horror.

Scott sighed, “Look, man, I can’t do much else. If you want relationship advice, you should talk to Allison.”

“I don’t need relationship advice! This is Pack business, Scotty—“

“It really isn’t,” Scott cut in, “Derek isn’t Pack, you are.”

“Yeah, but he’s my responsibility.”

“Then handle it responsibly,” Scott shrugged, standing up, “Come on, I’ll ride with you back to the bakery.”

~~~

Stiles fidgeted all the way home, Derek sitting quietly in the passenger seat.

“So,” Stiles started slowly, drumming his fingers on the wheel, “How was work?”

_Smooth, Stiles. Real smooth._

Derek shrugged, “Fine.”

“Cool,” Stiles said after a moment, “Way cool.” Jesus what was wrong with him.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked.

“Who? Me?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“No I’m not,” Stiles winced at the lie. Derek just gave him a hard look.

“Just—“ Stiles scrambled for a moment, then sighed, “Look, we’ll talk when we get home.”

Derek gave him an unreadable look and settled in his seat, eyes back on the road. Stiles blew out a breath and tried not to think about it.

Except he was a planner. A compulsive planner. So he spent the rest of the ten minute drive working out the very best argument he could to convince Derek to give him a little more space without driving him away. He’d hammered out most of the details as they climbed the stairs to his apartment and when the door closed behind him, he was pretty confident this would go off without a hitch.

“Okay,” Derek said, leaning against the couch with his arms crossed to look at Stiles, “What’s going on?”

“I like you.”

There was dead silence.

Derek’s eyebrows rose as Stiles stood paralyzed, his inner monologue screaming, _THAT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN, THAT WAS THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN_. 

“You what?” Derek asked.

“Like you,” Stiles could feel his heart beating three times its normal speed, “You know, in a platonic buddy buddy kinda way.”

_Stay cool, Stiles, stay cool._

“You like me.”

“But I think you need to back up a little off the protection detail because I’m having a hard time breathing with you always there all the time and it’s nice that you care and stuff but I’m used to my own space and you just take up so much of it like all the time and I’m starting to feel suffocated and hot God is it hot in here?”

Stiles pulled at his shirt to get some air flow, belatedly wondering if it was making the whole apartment smell like fucking amaretto. Derek just stared. He hadn’t moved an inch.

“You like me,” he said again.

“I’m gonna crack a window.”

“Stiles, stop.”

Stiles froze, not looking anywhere but the window, wondering if he could survive the fall if he threw himself, wondering how bad he’d just screwed everything up. He could feel Derek turning to him, approaching him carefully.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” Stiles finally croaked, mentally kicking himself. Like _that, Stiles, you didn’t mean to say it_ like _that_.

God he was screwed.

“But you did,” Derek said.

Stiles felt his shoulders fall, “Well you know sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain and I just start word vomiting all over the place which is great in moments like this because I end up digging myself into a bigger hole than the one I started with, like that time I told Lydia—“

“Stiles, shut up.”

“Yeah okay cool I can do that, no sound just quiet—“

“Stiles!”

“Shutting up.”

Derek sighed through his nose, watching Stiles from a foot away.

“Look man, I’m sorry—“

“I said be quiet Stiles.”

“Fuck you, dude,” Stiles snapped, turning on him, his face red, but from anger or embarrassment it was hard to say, “I’m trying to apologize here, the least you can do is accept it before you hit me!”

“Hit you?” Derek look startled at the prospect, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

“I mean,” Stiles anger faltered at the look in Derek’s eye.

“I would never hit you,” he said strangely, staying back.

“Then why did you tell me to shut up?” Stiles threw his hands up, trying for exasperation now that he’d lost anger.

“Because you were talking too much.”

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it, nodding.

After a moment, Derek spoke again, “How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you liked me?”

“A while,” Stiles crossed his arms, “Look, I really don’t want to talk about this, can we just pretend it never happened and move on?”

“Do you still want me to give you space?”

Stiles thought about it, his lips barely parted, “I don’t know.”

Derek nodded and brushed past him to used the bathroom.

Stiles felt a cold ache in his wake.

~~~

Dinner was quiet. Stiles had made a quiche completely from scratch (Crust and all. Seriously, he’s a nervous baker, see the pasties.) with as many salvageable ingredients from his vegetable crisper he could find as well as half a pound of ground beef he’d found hidden in his father’s freezer. Stiles ate on the corner of the couch, his eyes studiously not wandering to Derek. He hadn’t realized how much he usually stared until he was forced not to. Forcing himself not to.

Derek was sitting on the floor, plate in his lap, slowly working through his second slice. Stiles at once hated and envied him for being able to eat. Two thirds of Stiles first slice were still sitting neglected on his plate. At nine he stood, bracing himself to walk past Derek to the kitchen only o be stopped with a hand holding his ankle. His skin crawled and he tried not to show it.

“Let me,” Derek said, standing. Stiles nodded without a word, handing over his plate, but when he went to move away, Derek caught him again, “Can you stay here for a second? Please?”

Stiles nodded again, standing in the middle of the room for a moment before moving back to the couch. This was his damn apartment, and Derek was his guest, he could sit on his couch if he wanted to. It still felt like intruding on someone’s personal space. Derek came back after a moment, turning off the TV and sitting as far away from Stiles as he could. Well that was as good a sign as any.

“Look man, if you want to move out—“

“I don’t want to move out,” Derek said calmly, turning to face Stiles.

“W’ll,” Stiles tried to think of something else to say, “I mean you don’t have to, obviously. And what I said earlier won’t affect our friendship, okay? I promise not to make it awkward or anything.”

“I know.”

Stiles watched Derek. Derek watched him back. Finally Stiles looked away.

“What do you want, man?”

“I want you to know I’m not good at this.”

Stiles looked up.

“This,” Derek motioned between them, “I’m not good at relationships, even before…”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded, trying for amicable, “You don’t need to—“

“Stiles, just let me talk.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Stiles looked back down at his clasped hands.

There was another pause, then, “I want to try. With you.”

Stiles' head shot up at that, heart pounding, but at a loss for words.

“If that’s okay.”

Stiles nodded furiously, “Yeah. Yeah no problem, I get it.”

“Okay,” Derek nodded too, seeming to fight a smile, “Then could I… Could I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles felt like a bobble head, “Of course.”

Derek seemed to steal himself for a moment, then moved forward slowly. Stiles sat completely still, his heart jack rabbiting around in his chest until Derek was _right there_ and he closed his eyes and—

The kiss was chaste, barely more than a peck. It was much like a kiss Stiles would’ve given his mother at the age of five. And yet Stiles felt the air stutter in his chest, familiar heat pooling in his gut as Derek pulled away. He wanted to chase him, wanted to deepen the kiss and press into Derek, crowd him to the couch and take him apart…

But this was Derek, and Stiles was shocked the guy let him in this far. So he smiled instead, sure his pupils were blown wide as he stood. He wanted to say something suave, something flirty, but all he could think of was, “Thanks.”

Derek smiled and Stiles couldn’t help leaning down and brushing his lips on his forehead, feeling the skin burn. Derek held him there for a moment more, then let him go.

And Stiles went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, Comments, Concerns, Kudos, [Tumblr](http://boomsnapwhist.tumblr.com).
> 
> Did I mention I was a fan of dialogue?


	10. Chapter 10

Touches were totally a thing after that. They had been before, but back then it had been a nudge out of the way or a pat on the shoulder. Now it was full contact. Derek palming his neck or placing both hands on his hips. When they were alone, he’d pull Stiles into his lap or flush against his side, wrapping his arms around his chest and burying his face in Stiles’ hair. Stiles didn’t mind, after all he could touch Derek just as much. Scott looked self-satisfied the next time they hung out.

“Shut up,” Stiles told him, pointing his beer at his best friend.

“I didn’t say anything,” Scott replied, taking a sip of his own drink, “When are you going to bring him around?”

“He’s been around,” Stiles hedged.

“Stiles,” Scott smiled, “C’mon, dude.”

Stiles sighed, “That’s not what this is.”

“What’s not what what is?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “We’re not…” he waved a hand around a bit, “ _like_ that, okay? We’re not there yet.”

“Smells like you’re there yet.”

“Dude!” Stiles punched Scott, laughing, “Gross!”

“Seriously, though,” Scott said, still smiling, “Bring him around. I mean we’re not really in a place for a pack barbecue, but we’ll figure something out.”

Stiles rolled his eyes again, fighting his blush, “He hasn’t even officially met my dad yet, how am I supposed to bring him around my pack?”

Good question.

Stiles thought it over one night as he absently stroked Derek’s hair while they watched So You Think You Can Dance (or maybe America’s Got Talent, Stiles couldn’t really tell). Stiles was on the couch, laid out, one arm over his eyes while he listened to the TV, the other obviously running over Derek’s head, which was leaning against his thigh as he sat in the small space between the couch and the coffee table.

“Hey,” Stiles moved his arm to get a look at Derek, who’s eyes were closed, “You wanna have dinner with my dad?”

Derek blinked blearily back to existence, rolling his head slightly and making Stile’s hand fall over his face.

“Huh?” he asked into Stiles’ palm.

Stiles snorted, adjusting his neck to get a better view, “Dinner. The meal between lunch and bedtime.”

Derek swatted his hand away playfully before looking like he was considering it, “Sure.”

“Yeah?”

Derek shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable, “Yeah. We should do it.”

“Do it?” Stiles couldn’t help smirking.

Derek’s face turned bright red and he smacked Stiles again, but didn’t answer which was answer enough. After all, they’d only known each other for a few months, and yeah most of Stiles’ previous dude relationships had progressed a lot farther a lot faster by this point, but he was kinda enjoying the slow pace. It gave him time to appreciate Derek for more than his… assets. Which he totally would’ve appreciated anyway even if they had started moving faster. Derek, that is. Well, his assets too, but mostly Derek.

“Stiles.”

Something fluffy landed on his face and Stiles shoved it off to see Derek’s pointed look.

Stiles made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a huff, “Ghyuh?”

Derek rolled his eyes, face still flushed and all the sudden Stiles wondered what he smelled like.

“Oh Jesus!” he shot to his feet, stumbling in his haste to get away from the couch and hide the physical evidence of his wandering mind, “I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry—“

“It’s fine, I’m used to it,” Derek smiled, eyes rounding in the next second, “I’m mean— no I meant I’m just used to the smell— well no of course not the smell, but the smell on other peop— other guys—“ Derek snapped his jaw shut and buried his face in his hand, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, _Jesus Christ_.

And that, somehow, beyond everything made Stiles snort, crossing his arms, “Wow. We’re awesome.”

Derek huffed out a laugh as well, dropping his hand, “Yeah.”

And for the first time in weeks, the silence was awkward. They stared at each other across the couch, each not knowing what to do with the other. Actually Stiles knew exactly what he wanted to do. It involved Derek and the couch. And definitely less clothing. Probably. Maybe a tie if Stiles could—

“I’m going to bed,” Stiles made a bee line for the hall.

“It’s only 8:30,” Derek called, looking amused and maybe a bit worried.

Stiles paused at the door, mouth working as he tried to think of something to say, “Then I’m going to brush my teeth.”

“Bathroom’s on the other side,” now Derek definitely sounded amused, but Stiles just shut the door, striding to his small window and back, hand running through his hair. He felt on edge, and yeah sure it was sexual tension, but it also felt like… Something else. And it was strong. He suddenly felt stupid for running away from Derek. Why had he done that? Why had everything gotten so awkward so fast? _Why did Stiles have the inexplicable urge to burry himself under Derek’s skin?_

Metaphorically speaking.

Stiles blew out another long breath, ran his hand through his hair once more and decided to change. But when he pulled open the door to brush his teeth, he found he was instead walking back down the hall and right into Derek’s lap, flopping over him with a flourish and continuing to watch TV as if there hadn’t been an awkward boner moment and Stiles hadn’t run off like some girl in a soap opera.

“Better?” Derek asked, carding his fingers gently through Stiles hair. Stiles grunted, keeping his head firmly on the couch’s armrest and eyes on the screen. He still felt on edge, like he was moments from vibrating out of his skin, but he didn’t know how to fix it. Usually he’d bake, maybe, or go for a run, but the idea had less appeal when he realized he’d have to get up. _That_ sounded like the stupidest idea ever right now. What was he worried about before? Dinner? But he and Derek had already eaten, so why was he so worried…

“Stiles.”

Stiles jerked awake with a snort, eyes blearily snapping to Derek who just grinned, “You fell asleep.”

“Yeah,” Stiles rasped, looking around and squinting at the oven clock he could just make out through the doorway to the kitchen. 10:38. When the hell had 10:38 become past his bedtime?

“C’mon,” Stiles got to his feet awkwardly, lacing his fingers with Derek’s as he walk/stumbled them to the bedroom. Derek reached out to make sure Stiles didn’t band his head off the corner to the hallway, but otherwise they made it alright. Stiles shut the door behind them and let go of Derek’s hand long enough to pull his shirt up, revealing his belt.

“Whoa,” Derek’s hands instantly shot to Stiles’ wrists, “What are you doing?”

“Taking off your pants,” Stiles mumbled, leaning against Derek’s solid frame, eyes already closed again, “Sucks sleeping in jeans…”

“Okay,” Derek slid his hands up to Stiles’ elbows, bracing him as he lowered him to the bed.

“M’tired,” Stiles slurred, turning over and crawling up just enough to find a pillow, “Why’m I so tired?”

“When was the last time you got more than four hours of sleep?” Derek asked softly. Stiles made a noncommittal noise, listening to a soft distant tinkle he could only assume was Derek doing something. Stiles was too tired to try figuring it out. In fact, he decided he didn’t care. He had a pillow, the over head fan just kicked on, and he was so bone deep weary for no reason he could decipher…

Then there was a warm body next to him and like a heat seeking missile, Stiles turned over to burrow deep into Derek’s chest, his stubble scraping Stiles’ forehead as he leaned in to kiss his hairline. Stiles sighed, hooking his leg between Derek’s and throwing the arm not pinned between them over his ribs. Derek, he could feel, did much the same: stretching one arm under Stiles pillow while the other wrapped around to bring them that much closer. Stiles didn’t even have the energy to say goodnight before he passed out cold.

 

~~~

 

Stiles felt heavy when he woke. His breaths were still slow, gravity pressing against his everything, holding him down like a soft blanket of steal. Moving his head felt like an olympic achievement, but the sight of dark eyelashes on pail skin, sharp cheekbones softened by sleep and light breaths against Stiles neck made it all worth it. He was still having trouble moving, so he decided to stay still and just watch. After a moment, he fell soundlessly back to sleep.

 

~~~

 

A few hours later he woke up again, this time alone and a lot less heavy. He stretched out wide like a starfish, letting his back crack back into some semblance of straight before sitting up. He could smell coffee, which was a very nice change of pace, so he slipped from the bed and shambled down the hall to see…

A half-naked, sleep rumpled werewolf holding out a cup of coffee to him.

Yes this would do nicely.

Stiles took the cup gratefully, following Derek to the couch and sitting hip to knee at his side. Derek turned on the TV to something mindless and colorful before dropping the remote in his lap and throwing his arm on the back of the sofa behind Stiles and Stiles (never one to miss an opportunity) leaned into his chest. As Derek kissed the top of his head, taking a deep breath, Stiles thought how perfect it all was: coffee, cartoons, a regular lazy day with his…

With his…

And it was like a switch went off. Stiles was snuggling with a werewolf he’d only known for three (Jesus Christ _three_ — no wait maybe four. Three and a half.) months. The guy had only stopped being feral _a few weeks ago_ (or was it sooner? later? What was wrong with Stiles’ head? How long had it—)

“Don’t freak out,” Derek mumbled into his hair.

Stiles stilled, fighting his instant reaction to melt into the words. He thought about every single moment since meeting Derek— every single time he’d just _done_ something instead of doing the _smart_ thing— and felt his skin tighten involuntarily. A bright, harsh shiver stripped over his body and he shot to his feet, wanting to shake the feeling off.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, looking up at Stiles. He looked confused and worried, but didn’t move like he was scared Stiles would bolt.

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching Derek’s face for something, _anything_ , to explain why he wanted to crawl back up beside him and never leave. Why he had the strongest urge to protect and care for a man who could probably rip apart a 100 year old spruce and only get and hangnail for his trouble. He wanted to know why he’d saved him, why he’d brought him into his space, why he kept pushing and pushing and Derek just _let him_.

_I need a minute_.

_Why did I tell you I like you?_

_How did I get in this deep?_

“Stiles,” Derek sounded like he was trying to stay calm, “You’re heart is going crazy. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Stiles finally choked out, shaking his head and almost hitting it with his mug before switching hands to rub his fingers through his hair, “Yeah,” he turned to go then turned back, setting his mug down and pointing at Derek, “Stay.”

Derek frowned, but didn’t move as Stiles left the room. He went to the closet and wrestled the folding door open, pulling boxes he hadn’t touched since high school off the top shelf. He didn’t bother going into his room, just threw off the lids and started rifling through the files and papers until he found the first notebook, red and stained and warn to thin pages. He plopped down and flipped quickly through, making sure what he was looking for wasn’t in there before pulling out the second blue, slightly _more_ stained notebook. This one had it. He skimmed the pages over and over finally finding what he was looking for towards the end, the rest was in the front of the third (was yellow, but now missing it’s cover) notebook. Stiles stared at his hand writing a long time, going over the words again and again. _Extreme instinct to protect. Calmer. Scott says intense attachment (could be proximity based). Comfort is KEY. Moon is negligible. Mild safety concern. Dubious amounts of sniffing._

Stiles pulled the red notebook back, flipping it to the middle where he’d started a list. _FULL MOON: increased strength, increased aggression, loss of control, loss of recognition, ANIMAL, DO NOT APPROACH, HANDLE WITH EXTREME CAUTION._

He threw all the notebooks back in their boxes and replaced it all on the shelf, not bothering to close the door before hurrying to his room to grab his phone and check what he should have checked months ago.

Last night had been the full moon.

Normally it didn’t affect the pack, they were so well anchored the full moon was more like an annoying aunt than a danger. But Derek was feral. Derek had been deemed feral from the beginning. He should have wolfed out and killed someone months ago.

Slowly Stiles got back to his feet and walked back to the living room. Derek looked agitated, but still didn’t get up, like he was glued to the seat. It didn’t stop him from leaning forward and snapping aggressively, “What the hell is going on?”

“I’m your anchor,” the words drifted from Stiles with wonder, still too startled to believe it all himself, “You should’ve killed me last night.”

Derek’s eyes became impossible wide, but he didn’t refute it. Stiles just stared, feeling heady, like he’d just been plunged into a snowdrift then dropped in a hot tub for good measure.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked.

Derek wouldn’t look at him, just said haltingly, “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah no shit, dude,” Stiles replied with no heat, “You still should’ve said something.”

“Like what?” Derek snapped, still not meeting his eye, “'Hey Stiles I know we just met but you’re the first person ever not to be scared of me on sight and I kinda made you the focal point of my universe’?"

Stiles shrugged, “I mean, maybe not _exactly_ like that, but sure.”

Derek glared, but Stiles only stared back, a grin slowly forming on his face.

“Dude,” he said with a little more weight, “I’m your anchor.”

“Yeah thanks I got that,” Derek said sarcastically.

“No, Der,” Stiles dropped to the couch next to him, twisting to catch his eye and hold it, “ _I’m your anchor_.”

Derek studied him for a long moment, then a small almost childish grin broke across his features, “Yeah. I guess you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay honestly? I apologize for this chapter. Originally it was going to be stupid long with a bunch of things happening, but life and school and my dumb hummingbird panics and cottonfog brain got in the way. I can't promise I won't take as long for the next update, but I can promise I'm still working and this is not abandoned.
> 
> Again, if you see any mistakes, have any questions, comments, critiques, wanna leave kudos or find me on tumblr (boomsnapwhist) by all means go to.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's gone for three months and she comes back with porn. Give that girl a prize.

Stiles felt whole, his heart fit to burst, emotion thick in his throat. He felt good. Better than he had in months. _Years_. He wanted to run thirty miles. He wanted to scream and laugh until he lost his voice. He wanted to hold Derek to his chest and feel their hearts beat in tandem. Most of all, he wanted to smile. So he did. Big and bright and goofy for all the world to see. He felt like he could breath again. He felt a lot of things.

Inside his chest was a carnival. Outside, he hadn’t lost sight of their distant and seemingly monstrous goal: Find Derek’s Family.

It wasn’t discussed between them. It was the elephant neither of them were willing to touch, though they did do a lot of touching, mostly on other, less extreme topics. And sometimes quickly rising topics. Stiles was still terrified to go too fast, keenly aware of the suffering Derek had been through, and unwilling (see: staunchly against) adding to it. Derek, as far as Stiles could tell, didn’t mind. He kept his hands to himself at work (something Stiles definitely had trouble with) and kept to his own space (the couch) after the whole bed incident…

But see, that was the problem. Stiles didn’t want it to be an _incident_. Stiles wanted Derek back in his bed. Hell, he wanted him there _every night_. He wanted to fall asleep with his lips on Derek’s shoulder and wake up to gross morning breath and probably cuddle a lot and maybe definitely do other things also a lot. The problem was broaching the subject. Stiles wasn’t smooth in the least, no matter how many times he told himself differently, and this was the one thing, _the one thing_ , he didn’t want to mess up.

“You know, talking to him the first time seemed to work really well,” Scott told him as he and Allison sat on their front porch swing.

Stiles thumped his head against the railing, his elbows on his knees while he carefully pealed the label from his beer. Derek, Boyd, and Erica were still inside cleaning up from the pack dinner, Derek’s official _Welcome To Our Weird Family_ get together. The rest of the pack, including Stiles’ dad and the other parents plus one deputy ( _“He’s a dragon. Remind me to tell you how we found_ that _one out.”_ ) had already left an hour or so earlier. Scott had given the three in the kitchen a stern talking to about listening in then dragged Stiles out to talk shop like they usually did after any meal they shared.

“I could call him out here if you want,” Scott offered when Stiles still hadn’t spoken.

Stiles shook his head, “I want it to happen organically.”

“What’s more organic than just telling him?” Scott asked, receiving a smack from Allison for his trouble.

“Take as much time as you need,” she said, “He’s been through a lot, no one will fault you for taking things slow.”

“We’re kissing now,” Stiles blurted, feeling like a five year old.

Allison just smiled.

An hour later Derek and Stiles were back in the Jeep, heading across town to Stiles’ apartment. He looked over to Derek, his heart filling all over again. Without looking Derek reached over, grabbing his hand over the gearshift. He didn’t let go until they parked and only then long enough to climb out and head for the door. Stiles fumbled his key into the lock, pressing the door open with his side, and letting it swing closed quietly. 

“So what did you think about din—“

Derek’s mouth was on his, hands cupping his face, body pressing close as he crowded him to the wall. Stiles let out a totally involuntary, completely manly moan, his head thunking pleasantly against the hard surface. Derek didn’t stop, letting his kisses move from lips to jaw to neck to collar bone, sucking a deep dark bruise into Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles scrambled, finding purchase in Derek’s hair, on Derek’s bicep. He ordered his knees not to give way, “ _Derek_.”

Derek was on his mouth again, fingers working buttons open with frightening speed.

“Derek, wait.”

Derek jerked back, hands still on Stiles’ shirt, but frozen in place, waiting for the next words. Stiles didn’t have any. He opened his mouth to speak only to be beaten to it.

“I heard,” Derek said, voice uncharacteristically rough even for him, “I’m not scared. I want this.”

“You heard?” Stiles asked dumbly, then more scandalized, “You _listened_?”

“To be fair, you were talking pretty loud,” Derek pointed out, suppressing a smile.

Stiles bumped his head against the wall again, chewing on his lip as he fought back a blush, “You’re sure?”

Derek nodded, a wildfire growing behind his eyes, “If you are.”

Stiles launched forward, rolling his whole body into Derek’s, breaking all semblance of barriers just to get _closer_.

“Yeah,” he finally said through the kisses, “Yeah, I totally am.”

“Bedroom,” Derek grunted, hauling them both through the tiny space. Stiles could definitely see how small it was now that he was burdened with possibilities. The couch wasn’t long enough, there was no kitchen table, the TV was on freaking _milk crates_ —

“Stop thinking,” Derek instructed into Stiles' mouth. Stiles nodded, only breaking far enough away to pull his and Derek’s shirts over their heads. He felt Derek going for his belt and tried to do the same, but Derek was quicker. In no time his pants were open and he was pushed solidly onto the bed, his feet still touching the floor. He heard Derek’s knees drop heavily to the hardwood and looked down his body long enough to watch him deftly strip Stiles of his jeans.

“Fuck,” Stiles let his head drop to the mattress and closed his eyes, covering them with one arm so he could just _feel_. Derek’s rough, sold hands running over his knees. Derek's strong, warm fingers teasing up his thighs, slowly dragging down towards his back. Derek using one swift jerk to get Stiles closer to the edge of the bed and Derek’s rough whiskered cheek releasing warm deep breaths up Stiles’ inner thigh.

“God, you smell amazing,” Derek rumbled, nuzzling through the fabric of Stiles’ boxers, burying his face at the juncture of Stiles’ hip, nose brushing gently against his erection.

“Jesus— _fuck_ Derek,” Stiles moaned, writhing upward from more friction. Derek’s right hand pressed him harder into the mattress while his left wound around Stiles’ ankle, keeping his feet down. He mouthed through the fabric, seemingly enjoying the feel of soft cotton over hard flesh. It was slow, so slow Stiles thought he was going to die before they even started.

“Derek, _please_ ,” Stiles squirm harder, tears threatening to fall from pure _sensation_. He moved the arm covering his eyes and sought out Derek’s hand, lacing their fingers in a death grip before Derek let him go and finally moved his boxers away. Air fled Stiles’ lungs at the first feeling of Derek on his cock. He wasn’t even _licking_ , just dragging his nose and open mouth slowly over the underside, taking his time. He let go of Stiles’ ankle to press another hand into his belly, then swallowed half way down his length. Stiles’ involuntary buck was more of a twitch under Derek’s weight, but his shout was clearly enough confirmation to proceed. Derek was methodical, bobbing carefully further and further down, covering the base of Stiles’ cock with a warm hand.

“Shit!” Stiles gritted his teeth, one hand gripping his own hair while the other scrambled down to find something of Derek’s, finally landing on his head, then ear, then cheek, where he could feel himself in Derek’s mouth, “Huh! Oh fuck—“

Derek pulled back, swirling over Stiles’ head before bobbing back down.

“ _Oh my God_ , oh God—fuck— Derek I can’— I’m g—“

Derek moved off, pumping Stiles while mouthing at his balls and that was it. Stiles curled and shook, shouting out his orgasm on deaf ears as Derek worked him through it. He slumped back, pushing Derek away and dragging him up his body for a slow sloppy kiss. He didn’t give a shit about taste or hygiene or any of it. He wanted Derek on him, in him, whatever he could get to make sure he’d never leave. Derek shifted against him, putting his hand down his pants and pressing them far enough away to relieve his erection. He pressed into the dip of Stiles’ hip, arms circling Stiles’ head, and worked, thrusting into the crease and kissing Stiles stupid until he came with a choked off moan, eyes fluttering shut, mouth wide as he fought to breath and slumped hard into Stiles’ shoulder. For a long moment they laid there, spent and sated. When Stiles patted Derek to move, he rolled off but Stiles still didn’t get up. Instead he took Derek’s hand, entwining their fingers, and held it to his chest. He wanted to say so much. Words bubbled through him, dangerous ones he shouldn’t say unless he was sure. Words he could never take back. Stiles, for once in his life, was scared to use his words.

He kissed Derek’s hand instead.

 

~~~

 

Of course everything was different after that. They shared a bed, they shared a _life_ , and it was some kind of perfect. The first day of work post-sex, the twins were a hooting mess, all teasing and back handed congratulations. Lydia rolled her eyes, but still gave Stiles a hug, and Allison spent a good thirty minutes in deco squealing about it with Kira.

“I can’t work like this,” Isaac finally said, shoving his half finished challah on the rack and taking off his apron, “You two are disgusting, I’m taking a break.”

Derek and Stiles blinked as he left, giving each other confused looks before continuing with their work. Boyd and Erica showed up for lunch, stopping in the back to give them knowing looks. Well, Boyd gave a knowing look. Erica gave Stiles a noogie and pulled Derek into the kitchen for a short conversation.

“Is she giving him the shovel talk?” Stiles asked.

“They’re all giving him the shovel talk,” Boyd said. Stiles groaned, but the two returned no worse for wear. Derek looked a little pail maybe, but Stiles figured that was to be expected. Hours later, back in bed, Derek retold him the threats. Stiles was rolling as Derek spoke, choking red faced when he talked about the twins many soup ideas featuring specific parts of his anatomy.

“I’m sending them a fruit basket, oh my God,” Stiles said, wiping his eyes.

“It’s good that they protect you,” Derek said, propping himself over Stiles prone form.

“Yeah well,” Stiles shrugged, running a hand lazily up and down Derek’s back, “Anyway. What do you want for dinner?”

“Pizza.”

“I knew you were my favorite,” Stiles smiled, giving Derek a long slow kiss before getting up, “We’re making it from scratch.”

“Why don’t we just order?” Derek asked, following.

Stiles scoffed, “Come on man, where’s the fun in that?”

“Um,” Derek leaned against the hall entrance, looking pointedly at the couch.

Stiles paused, “Huh. Fare point.”

He picked up his cell instead and ordered, then slumped to the couch, conforming to his side and as time went on, his lap. Stiles was already half undressed when the buzzer for the front door went off.

“I’ll be right back,” Stiles made to get up, but Derek pulled him back down with a dissatisfied grunt.

“They can wait,” He rumbled. Stiles hesitated a moment longer, enjoying the kiss before breaking away.

“Two minutes.”

He got to his feet, adjusting his pants and finding his shirt. He leaned down, giving Derek’s scowl a short, bracing kiss, “I’ll be right back.”

 

~~~

 

Stiles’ head throbbed with his heart beat. He groaned, turning over to stare at blackness. There was no ceiling, there were no walls, everything was just… dark.

“Are you awake?” a voice whispered to his left.

“Jesu—Who’s there?” Stiles asked, fighting to keep his voice calm.

A light flashed, making Stiles flinch before he realized it was a lighter, the face it illuminated was dirty and thin, the hair an inky black frame around large eyes, “Who are you?”

“Stiles,” he said, trying to focus through the ache. The girl (definitely a girl) looked familiar.

“I’m Cora. I’m Derek’s sister.”

Something clicked in Stiles’ head and his eyes grew wide, “Holy shit.”

“Why do you smell like him?” another female voice snapped, making Stiles mum all over again. Cora held the lighter a little further over to reveal another set of eyes, icy blue, but not wolf blue, a little lighter.

“I’m his…” Stiles hesitated saying boyfriend. These two had been trapped in a cage for God knows how long, he didn’t want them to think Derek had just gone off and forgotten them, started a new life without any intention of saving theirs.

“He’s his Mate,” Cora explained, “He must’ve found you on the outside, right?”

Stiles mind went blank, “What? No, his boyfriend.”

“Oh,” the blonde girl said.

Cora just shrugged, “Whatever, your together, that’s all that matters.”

“And why does it matter?”

“He’ll come get you,” she replied as if Stiles were dense, “You’re his and he’s yours. He’ll get you back.”

“Are you a wolf too?” the blonde asked interestedly.

“No, I’m human.”

“Why do you smell like a pack though?”

“Because humans can be in packs too,” Stiles gave her a _duh genius_ look.

“You’ll have to forgive her, she’s new to all this,” Cora flapped her hand around, catching the light on her palm.

“I was living in the burnt out hull of a car for ten years,” she informed him.

Stiles stared, “A car?”

She nodded. Stiles looked for confirmation in Cora, but she just shrugged and said, “Her name is Malia. Apparently she’s a cousin.”

“Weren’t you two locked up for like a year already?” Stiles asked, “Shouldn’t you know if she’s you’re cousin?”

“We weren’t locked up with her,” Cora said, nodding to the far corner, “We were locked up with him.”

Stiles looked into the darkness, “Can I borrow that?”

The light went out and Stiles felt a hand bump his palm, then the warm metal lighter in his hand. He flicked it on, crawling towards long jean clad legs, shirt mussed up over a thin, hard figure. He held it up higher until the figure blinked and hissed, patchy blond stubble covering his cheeks, his hair longer, but his over all face unmistakable.

“Jackson?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JACKSON IS PETER'S BIOLOGICAL SON AND NO ONE CAN FUCKING TELL ME OTHERWISE.
> 
> And now it is published so ha ha.
> 
> Also, I've never given, received, or watched a blow job in my life. So if something sounds or reads hokey in that bit I apologize. Hysterically enough, I like to be accurate during sex scenes so people don't go all Fifty Shades of Grey on my fic thinking they can do shit they ain't got no business doing without prep and forethought.


	12. Chapter 12

“Stilinski?” Jackson slurred, narrowing his eyes.

“Holy shit,” Stiles felt it was becoming a mantra. He moved closer, trying to get a better look, “What the hell happened to you?”

“What does it fucking look like?” Jackson snapped, slumping from his side to his back with a huff, “I’m drugged.”

“Yeah, no shit dude,” Stiles moved to help Jackson sit up, but Cora lashed out, grabbing Stiles’ hand before he could touch.

“Don’t!” she snapped, pulling Stiles roughly, “He’s a _kanima_.”

Stiles snorted, looking from her to Jackson and back, “Uh, no.”

He pulled out of Cora’s grip and helped Jackson from his back to lean against the wall, “Up and at ‘em, there you go.”

“Get off,” Jackson jerked his arm away, looking blearily up at Stiles, “How’d you get here?”

“Oh I asked,” Stiles replied sarcastically, “Yeah, I met some shadowy figures and begged them to take me captive. Even had them hit me over the head for the real _authentic_ abduction experience.”

“I will kill you,” Jackson told him.

Stiles patted him on the shoulder, “Dream big, buddy.”

Jackson slapped his hand away, letting out a growl that honestly sounded more dangerous than a drugged werewolf should, which Stiles felt was definitely saying something. 

“I’m serious,” Jackson took a deep breath, his eyes squeezed shut, “Did they get anyone else?”

“No,” Stiles sobered, thinking of the pack, of Derek, “No, just me.”

Jackson nodded, finally leaning his head against the wall, eyes still closed.

“So how long have you guys been here?” Stiles asked. His eyes had adjusted enough to let him see everyone, so he flicked off the lighter, letting his eyes adjust the last little bit.

“A long time,” Cora sounded grim, “We can’t feel the moon here.”

“We haven’t seen light either,” Malia added, “Every time the door is opened they gas us.”

“They _what_?” Stiles squawked.

“They release a neurotoxin into the room from a vent up there,” Cora pointed toward the ceiling, but Stiles’ vision wasn’t good enough to see anything, “It’s some sort of wolfsbane. But they always shoot Jackson up with something else before they leave.”

“Probably the same stuff, but heavier,” Stiles surmised, looking over to him. Jackson looked like he was snoozing fitfully, “You said he was a kanima?”

“You said he wasn’t,” Malia pointed out.

“Because he _isn’t_ ,” Stiles emphasized, “but he was.”

“ _Was_?” Cora said incredulously.

“I got better,” Jackson slurred, curling further into the corner.

“No one gets _better_ from being a _kanima_.”

Jackson’s eyes snapped to her, blazing ice blue, “I did,” he said, sounding articulate and deadly.

 _The wolf_ , Stiles thought. Well, hoped, but the kanima had never been very articulate, so he figured he wasn’t wrong. Cora and Malia shrank away slightly. Stiles just gave Jackson a sidelong look, “Feeling better?”

“Working on it,” Jackson crossed his arms agitatedly and tried to go back to sleep.

“You said you can’t feel the moon?” Stiles asked.

“Not for a while,” Malia shook her head, still watching Jackson for any sudden movements.

“You sure you want to sit that close to him?” Cora asked, uncomfortably.

“Who, him?” Stiles nudged Jackson’s side, receiving a low throaty growl in return and shrugged, “He won’t hurt me, we’re friends.”

“We’re not friends,” Jackson bit out.

“Totally friends,” Stiles agreed, “Don’t get off topic.”

“How is that off topic?” Cora was starting to sound as annoyed as Jackson, “The topic was over. We can’t feel the moon. Done. Full stop. Nothing else.”

“So you haven’t changed in—“

“However long we’ve been in here, yeah,” Cora snapped, “And it’s freaking killing us.”

“Wait literally or—“

“You’re brother’s mate is stupid,” Malia informed Cora. Jackson snorted. Stiles felt moderately offended.

“I’m sorry,” he sneered, “Am I offending you with my lack of knowledge? Is my urge to decipher exactly how much trouble I’m in if, for instance, _the door was opened on a full moon_ upsetting your delicate sensibilities?”

Cora glared at him, “Yes.”

Jackson snorted again. Stiles elbowed him harder.

There was a clatter behind one of the walls, making everyone jump, then a slithering noise and a metallic _chunk_.

“They’re coming,” Cora whispered urgently, dragging Malia to the wall next to Jackson and Stiles, “Cover your mouth.”

“You didn’t hear them?” Stiles asked, but before he could get an answer, a loud hiss emanated from the ceiling, pushing in clouds of white fog. Stiles hurriedly stripped off his hoodie and balled it up to Jackson’s face before pulling his own shirt over his nose. The thin fabric did very little to stop the acidic stink. He coughed, spluttering, trying to help the girls better cover their own faces, but they were already going under.

 _Too much exposure_ , Stiles realized this was why Derek had looked like he’d been poisoning himself slowly over time.

“I’ll get us out,” he shouted over the roar of the fog. His limbs felt heavier, starting to numb as he pulled and pushed the girls closer to Jackson who reached out weakly to help. But too soon fine motor function became difficult, then impossible. Stiles felt his head hit the concrete with the same impact it usually hit his pillow and giving him the same affect: one moment of silence, then two, and he was out.

 

~~~

 

_“Wake up little emissary…”_

Stiles felt like he was dreaming. He could feel the world turning too fast around him, could feel the rough grain of the wood chair he was tied to with even rougher…

What was that? Twine?

Stop the ride, Stiles wanted off.

He forced a groan, anything to prove he was conscious and alive, but more to himself than his captors. He felt his pulse in his throat which also felt like cotton mixed with coarse sand had been shoved down it in the last hour. He took a deep breath (through his nose because just like every other bad guy cliché, his captors had gagged him) and worked on opening his eyes, which was a lot harder with a pounding migraine than one might expect.

_”Time to rise and meet the day…"_

Stiles jumped and nearly knocked over his seat, sending his head screaming and his chest into reckless spasms. It was him. The guy from the bakery. The scary one. Peter Hale. And company.

Stiles tried to blink through the pain, tried to get his bearings, but he was panicking and panicking led to choking and choking— 

“Let’s get this out of your mouth. I don’t think you’ll be making too much trouble for us, will you Stiles?” Peter reached behind Stiles’ head and untied what turned out to be a sock. Peter Hale had gagged him with a fucking sock. Stiles was at once revolted and annoyed. Couldn’t he use a strip of shirt? Some more of the rope he’d tied Stiles to the chair with?

(He was totally making up excuses to ignore the bigger picture, he was fully aware, but the bigger picture was a lot more glowing red eyes than one human should see in a day.)

“I’m not an emissary,” Stiles said roughly, trying to gather enough saliva to spit what he was sure was a lint ball hanging out on the inside of his cheek, “What did you drug me with?”

“Nothing too bad,” Peter assured with a smile, “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name’s—“

“Peter Hale,” Stiles finally spat and was disappointed when nothing came out.

“Derek Hale’s Uncle,” Peter didn’t seem phased, “And you’re his mate.”

“Mate is such a strong word,” Stiles replied, easily, “I prefer boyfriend. Nice and simple.”

Peter’s grin turned dark, “Be that as it may, you’re still very important to him.”

“I’m important to a lot of people,” Stiles pointed out, “Like the Sheriff, you know him? Tall, greying hair, piercing eyes? Carries a gun?”

Peter’s chuckle did not sit well with Stiles, so he pressed on, “No? How about the Alpha, Scott McCall? I mean surely you’ve heard of him right? The first True Alpha in an age? He’s kind of a big deal.”

“Oh I’ve heard of your Alpha,” Peter’s voice slithered, sending shivers up Stiles’ spine, “Sweet boy. Trusting. I don’t think he’ll be bothering us tonight. In fact I don’t think any of your pack will bother us,” Peter put on a sympathetic pout, “I hope that doesn’t ruin any plans you had cooking up.”

Stiles’ body went cold, his voice going deathly low, “What did you do to my pack?”

“ _Your_ pack?” Peter scoffed, “How are they _your_ pack? You’re just a human. You’re not even an _emissary_. You have no power over anything beyond your little cakes and muffins.”

Stiles’ lips thinned, he flicked his eyes to the shadows behind Peter, “So what’s the plan? Are you just going to sneer me to death? Or are you going to introduce me to this “Alpha pack” you’ve been working with?”

“Oh, them?” Peter turned to take a look over his shoulder, giving Stiles the chance he needed to breath through dislocating his thumb. No skipping heart beats here, no sir-ree.

“They’re not important. Not yet.”

“When _will_ they be important?” Stiles asked.

“When I get ahold of my dear nephew,” he sounded dreamy now. Demented, but dreamy, "I will take his power, just like I did his sister’s. I will kill them all one by one—”

“He’s your family!” Stiles couldn’t help snapping (Bad Stiles! Come on the guy was _monologuing_ for Christ’s sake…), “You’re willing to kill your own _family_? For what? A little extra juice?”

“Oh Stiles, Stiles, Stiles,” Peter slowly stepped toward him, prowling, leaning close, “I will do _anything_ for power.”

Stiles lashed out, slamming both palms hard on Peter’s ears. Peter howled, lurching upward and giving Stiles his out. He ran for the first door he saw across the floor, making it half way there before being barreled to the ground. A clawed hand gently gripped Stiles’ head and pressed it into the concrete as a deep voice with hot, musky breath said playfully, “Now where do you think you’re going?”

That was the moment Stiles realized he was out of his depth.

That was also the moment he heard the slither.

Stiles’ heart lurched and he hoped everyone thought it was for the tackle. In his head was a steady stream of _Jackson Jackson Jackson Jackson_ as he was brought back and roughly dropped into the chair, because there was no _way_ anything else could make that distinct a sound. Stiles listened again, straining his hearing while Macho Man Wolfy Savage retied his hands. There. Like a whisper held too long, a nail dragged over paper. Scales sliding over concrete. The implications of Jackson as both Kanima and Werewolf were panic inducing at the very least, so Stiles didn’t notice Peter was back to monologuing until way too late.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, shaking his head and forcing his body to relax marginally, “Could you repeat all of that again? ‘Cause I missed, like, 98% of it.”

Peter’s grin morphed from slimy to something else. Something darker, “I don’t think you realize the implications of your current situation, my boy.”

“Oh no, that I’ve got,” Stiles replied, “Honest. I’m being held captive, there’s only one person you want, I’m the weakest link, etcetera, etcetera.”

Peter raised his head, crossing his arms.

Stiles continued, “You know you’re not the first person to take me captive right? Not even the fourth. Not even the _tenth_ ,” okay, that was the bluff and Peter definitely caught it, “Okay, maybe the tenth.”

“You’re point?” Peter asked, playing along.

“Ever wonder how I always got away?”

“Let me guess,” Peter’s smile turned condescending, “Your little Scotty Dog would come in and bark until the bad men went away.”

Stiles had to force back a laugh, because the thought of Scott all furred up and yapping at some of the things they faced… “No,” Stiles smiled, “I had friends in high places.”

He looked up, his heart thundering and saw… nothing. He could have sworn Jackson was right above them. He looked at Peter, his body going cold as his face flushed at such a sweet line going to waist. Only Peter was gone. Completely gone. Stiles looked around, head swinging wildly until he saw a snake like tail disappear into the shadows. The dragging sound was what tipped him off.

“Jackson!” Stiles fought his bonds, rocking dangerously back and forth, “Jackson!”

“Shut _up_ , Stilinski! Jesus Christ!” Jackson roared from across the complex. Stiles froze, waiting for something else. There was nothing.

“So are you gonna let me out or what?” he finally called.

There was a growl from the shadows. More red eyes flashing.

“Actually, you know what?” Stiles started struggling in ernest with his bonds, “You do you, I’m fine, I’ll just—“

There was a roar loud enough to send Stiles flailing so hard in his little chair he flipped it onto it’s side giving him his third— yes, _third_ ladies and gentlemen— goose egg of the night. Stile groaned and just laid there for a second, because tonight was the worst: his friends might be hurt (or dead, but that’s not a world worth entertaining until the last minute), there were two more werewolves who hadn’t shifted in God knows how long in a room with a potentially open door (Jackson didn’t seem like the type to do something silly like shut a door in his Kanima state, that would be beneath him. Heh), and he was in a room full of Alphas fighting a Kanima/Werewolf hybrid thing and yeah when did it become okay to mix species like that? Where was Stiles break?

Another groaning howl broke through Stiles’ pity party, sending his heart lurching. He struggled again biting back the pain fro his dislocated thumb because he hadn’t gotten far enough to set it back. And apparently Wolfy Savage had been wise enough to tie the twine tighter and might he just add? Fuck twine. _Fuck. Twine._

Stiles let out an exasperated sound, kicking out in frustration until he—

His legs were free. Right. He rolled to his knees and pushed up from a squat to get the chair back on it’s legs. Except it fell out from behind him. Stiles stared at the chair on the floor, then around the room, because this _had_ to be a joke. They tied his hands and didn’t attach him to the _chair_? Were they new at this?

“Stiles.”

Stiles turned to see Jackson sway into the light. He was still mildly green and scaly, but his eyes were beta blue and he looked much worse than the last time Stiles had seen him.

“Shit,” Stiles hissed, bolting as he started to fall, but all he could do was lean back slightly to hopefully catch Jackson with his shoulder. It worked, barely. They still slid heavily to the floor.

“Shit, Jackson,” Stiles repeated, seeing long gouges in his back and sides, “Cut me loose.”

“You would think of yourself while I’m bleeding out,” Jackson smeared half heartedly, reaching out.

Stiles felt the thin bond snap easily (God fucking bless twine) and instantly reached out to steady the werewolf, “What can I say? I’m a prick. You got a phone?”

“Why the hell would I have a phone?”

“Well do you think one of them have a phone?” Stiles motioned to the darkness where he was sure Alpha bodies laid paralyzed just beyond his sight.

“Stilinski, if you make me get up to find a fucking phone for you, I swear to God—“

“ _STILES?_ ”

“Oh look at that, no need,” Stiles felt himself slump slightly, Jackson grunting at the movement, “We’re over here!”

Flashlights danced on the ceiling until Derek, looking like a hound from hell tore out of the darkness. His eyes landed on Stiles first, then Jackson.

“He needs medical attention,” Stiles directed.

Derek didn’t seem to notice or care. He slid in close to Stiles, running his hands over him, cataloguing ever scrape. His face darkened every time he found a new mark, his face thunderous when Stiles flinched away when he touched his head.

“Yeah, hello?” Derek turned his look to Jackson who seemed to have a death wish, “Hey, what’s up? I’m _dying_ over here, care to help?”

“Wow that’s an impressive level of bitch, even for you,” Stiles commented, not the least bit put out.

Derek roughly hauled Jackson to his feet, finally giving Stiles a view of the cavalry.

“Hey, Jordan,” Stiles waved.

“Stiles,” the deputy nodded, surveying the scene with his gun raised, “Still mad I didn’t join the pack?”

“Still trying to figure out how they didn’t know a dragon was in town actually,” Stiles quipped, getting to his feet. He swayed, Derek reached out, but with Jackson already leaning heavily on his shoulder, Stiles just smiled and waved him away.

“Yeah, well,” Parrish shrugged, lowering his weapon, “There’s not exactly a wealth of research on my kind.”

“Which myth did they use?” Stiles asked, interestedly, “Please tell me they gave you a virgin.”

“Shot me in the stomach, actually,” he quipped. Stiles squawked, stumbling towards the deputy. Parrish snagged him before he could fall over, “Whoa, you okay?”

“Am _I_ okay?” Stiles nearly shouted, “ _You just got shot in the stomach!_ ”

“Stiles I was wearing a _vest_ ,” Jordan looked at him in disbelief, “I was on patrol, I’m not a complete idiot.”

“Oh,” Stiles looked Parrish up and down a second time before patting his chest, “Okay then. Good. You keep doing that.”

There was a groan too close for comfort. Stiles jumped, stumbling again with the pain in his head, “We should—“

“Yeah,” Parrish pushed Stiles behind him, his skin already tinging pink with heat, “I’ll round them up.”

“Uh, actually,” Stiles spoke up, “There’s two more werewolves somewhere back,” he waved abstractly into the darkness, “there. Just so you know.”

Parrish rolled his eyes, “Great. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” and Stiles turned to follow Derek out of the warehouse, because really? He didn’t need to be around for the next part.


	13. Chapter 13

Parrish didn’t kill the Alpha Pack. Stiles didn’t know if he was relieved or ticked, because if anyone could take out a bunch of juiced up werewolves without breaking a sweat it would definitely be the freaking _dragon_. 

But no, Parrish was a Deputy and Deputies took an oath, blah, blah, blah… Whatever. When Scott woke up from the magical potion thing (probably another one of those aerosol poisons they seemed so fond of using) and had his pack accounted for, he asked the Alpha Pack kindly to leave his territory and never come back.

So there was a little less asking involved and kindly was definitely a stretch (with lots of eye squinting and awkward body contortion). To Stiles, it just made up for Parrish’s lack of _anything_.

Cora and Malia were too thin and too sick to do more than stay in bed the first few weeks post-captivity. Jackson, to no one’s (and everyone’s) surprise, was a train wreck. Apparently curing a Kanima left a guy with a bit of a… split personality if you will. Even more so than a regular wolf. For the first few days Jackson bounced between his regular douchey self and some sort of crazed watchdog, ready to murder anyone who came near the girls. Shocking, but somewhere down in the deep abyss that was Jackson’s chest cavity, he seemed to have a heart. Or at least a soft spot close to his liver for two of his three surviving family members. Could be on his appendix, actually.

Whatever, the point was, the girls were still sick, Jackson was still douche canoe, and the McCall Pack was still standing strong after months of playing the waiting game.

Now all Stiles had to do was figure out why Derek wouldn’t touch him.

 

~~~

 

It was going on day 12 before Stiles noticed. In his defense, what with Scott and Danny making sure Pack Law was abided by and Lydia playing doctor to the best of her ability (she being apparently the only person Jackson would allow within spitting distance of Cora and Malia, Aiden was just thrilled about that), Stiles was left to run the bakery alone. Allison, the goddess that she was, took over all of Lydia’s work, leaving the rest for Stiles to sort out. To say he missed his ovens by the time Danny came back would be a horrifying understatement. Stiles basically threw the pile of paperwork at him as soon as he was through the door and ran for it.

Once he was home he slept for a very long time that turned out to only be three hours, but he was rested enough to tackle his apartment which had become a sty of unwashed linens and clothing... less of Derek's clothing... almost none of Derek's clothing. Only the green shirt Stiles had stolen from him last week. No underwear, no socks, no pants... Stiles searched through the entire apartment (which didn't take long), even rifling through the drawer he'd cleared out for Derek (shut up) and there was nothing.

Stiles went cold at the prospect. Absolutely nothing.

Hurriedly, Stiles dug back through the mess to find his cell and call Scott.

"H'llo?"

"Scott!" Stiles nearly shouted, "Derek's gone!"

"What?" Scott sound marginally more awake.

" _Derek is gone!_ " Stiles started pulling at his hair, pacing the room, "His stuff is gone! His clothes, his shoes, his freaking _toothbrush_ \--"

"Stiles," Scott directed, "Calm down--"

"No!" he snapped, pausing in his movement to shoot daggers at his phone, "You _freak out_! What if Peter got him? What if the Alphas didn't leave after all? What if--"

" _Stiles!_ "

" _What?_ "

"Derek is here."

Stiles deflated. Every part of him seemed to fall as he croaked, "What?"

"He's staying with us," Scott explained, "To be close to Cora and Malia and Jackson. He's fine, he's asleep on the couch. Okay, he _was_ asleep."

Stiles heard Scott press his cell to his shirt for a moment while he spoke, then came back, "Do you want to come over?"

"I--" Stiles didn't know what to say, "Yeah-- no! No, I mean..." he took a deep breath, rubbing his face roughly, "I'll stay here. Tonight. I'll see him in the morning."

"Okay, I'll let him know..."

"Just--" Stiles lifted his arm to play with his hair, then thought better of it, awkwardly stretching it over his head, "Just tell him... l-let him know he can come--" Stiles choked, he was about to say home, "back," he finished lamely, "He can come back at any time. If he wants. I mean I can see why he left, this place is a hot mess, but... I'm fixing it. I mean I'm cleaning it up right now, so..."

Scott was silent for a moment, then gently said, "I'll let him know."

"Right," Stiles finally lost enough hot air to slump comfortably against the couch, "Thanks, man."

"No problem. Get some sleep."

Stiles snorted and hung up, staring dejectedly around the small space until the itch to clean came back too strong to ignore.

He slept on the couch that night.

 

~~~

 

The next day Stiles actively sought Derek out and cornered him in the walk-in. 

"Are you okay?" he asked immediately.

"I'm fine," Derek brushed passed him without actually touching and Stiles felt his heart spasm in his chest.

"Hey," he turned to follow, ignoring the twins who paused in their work to watch them walk by, ignoring Isaac when he quietly took off his apron and went to the front, "Derek, stop."

Derek dropped the bowl heavily on the metal table with an ungodly clang and began scraping out the dough, "I'm working."

"I know, just stop for a minute so I can talk to you, alright?" Stiles said frustratedly.

Derek slammed the bowl into an upright position and leaned against the counter, looking murderous while giving Stiles a go ahead gesture.

"Why are you angry?" Stiles asked.

"I'm not angry," Derek clipped.

Stiles rolled his eyes with his whole head, "Right, right of course not, you're just doing your damnedest to break my equipment in the most functional way possible."

"You don't want me working here?" Derek snapped, untying his apron, "Fine."

He threw it on the table and stormed out. Stiles gaped after him, trying to figure out when the conversation went so sideways. Then he stormed after him.

"Isaac," he shouted, throwing off his own apron, "Get the fucking dough!"

Derek was halfway across the parking lot before Stiles caught his arm. Derek wrenched free with a snarl, "What the hell is your problem?"

"I don't have a fucking problem!" Stiles shouted back, "Why are you acting like a fucking piss baby?"

"You're such a child," Derek dismissed, turning to leave again, but Stiles was having none of that.

"Stop it!" he snapped, getting in front of Derek angrily, "Stop walking away like you're the better person here!"

"Aren't I?" Derek sneared, crossing his arms.

"No, you're not, you're acting just as childish as me!" Stiles marched into his space, face hot, "You don't get to walk away without talking about this! You don't get to walk away without explaining to me why you're mad!"

"I'm not mad," Derek said evenly, his face closed.

"Yeah, well, you seem pretty fucking mad," Stiles bit.

"I'm _not_ mad," Derek's arms seemed to tense and for the first time, Stiles recognized it for what it truly was: protection. Derek was trying to protect himself. From Stiles.

Stiles took a step back, feeling like his throat was coated in brick dust, looking Derek full in the face, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied instantly.

"Please tell me the truth," Stiles felt like he was going to be sick. What had happened? What had he missed?

Derek's face did something funny. His eyebrows, really. They twitched up before hardening into a straight line, "I found my pack."

"Your pack."

Derek gave a short nod, "Cora, Malia, Jackson... They're all I have left. And I have to protect them."

“So,” Stiles mind was going a mile a minute with the possibilities, “so what, you’re just going to _leave_?”

“Two packs can’t live in the same territory, Stiles,” Derek didn’t say it condescendingly, but the blatant _You know this,_ was loud and clear.

“Two packs?” Stiles felt adrift. This couldn’t be happening, “There are no two packs. There’s one pack. There’s _our_ pack.”

“And what if I don’t want to be part of _your_ pack?” Derek snapped.

Stiles felt himself shattering, he was blinking furiously, but had no idea how to stop it, “I-- I don’t--”

“I can’t do this, Stiles.”

Stiles heart stopped. He stared at Derek and couldn’t see him, “Where is this coming from?”

“We need to heal,” Derek went on, “We’ve suffered so much loss, and I can’t-- I can’t stay. I can’t suffer anymore.”

Somewhere in the back of Stiles’ mind he thought he should be catatonic at his point. This much pain… This was unimaginable. He wanted to stop the world, just long enough to turn around and walk away with no repercussions. But Stiles mouth had other plans, “You can’t _suffer_ anymore?”

Derek stilled, his eyes zeroing in on Stiles.

“So your time here. Your time with me. You _suffered_.”

Derek looked gobsmacked, “No--”

“Which part did you _suffer_ through Derek?” Stiles asked, shivering with anger, “Which part _hurt_ you the most? Was it the sex? Was it kissing me? Was it _my pack_ having the fucking _nerve_ to treat you like family?”

“I _have_ a family!” Derek roared, eyes blazing blue, “And I nearly lost them! _Again_! And you! I fucking lost you in the five minutes it took you to pick up a God damn _pizza_! I can’t fucking protect you! I can’t fucking protect my family!--”

“So let us help!” Stiles flailed in frustration, “Derek that’s what a pack is _for_!”

“And when they can’t?” he shot back, stress bleeding out of him in waves with no end in sight, “When they’re taken out like this time or fucking _dead_ what do we do then?”

“We call Deaton!” Stiles snapped, “We call Parrish and my dad! Hell, we call fucking _Chris Argent_ to hunt those bastards down, Derek! We have an unending _armada_ of support at our fingertips! If they can get passed the _Kanima_ , the _Dragon_ , _and the fucking True Alpha_ , then we have a problem! And nothing is strong enough to do that! _Nothing_! Trust me! They’ve tried! Fucking supernatural assassins and Darachs and crazy ass doctors and chaos demons! Every single time something comes to fuck with us they get sent on their way because _we_ are stronger. _We_ have the power. And we have it because we stick together.”

Stiles took a deep breath, narrowing his eyes at Derek’s lost face, expression cracked and arms crossed limply, “If you want to run--" his voice cracked harshly on the word, but he pressed on, "If you want to run, then go. But you're not going to burn this bridge to make it easier on yourself."

Derek's eyes dropped and Stiles was suddenly out of words. He wanted to say so much but all that ran through his head in a constant loop was, "Stay."

Derek's eyes lifted, going from Stiles’ lips to his eyes and he realized he probably said that out loud.

“Please,” he couldn’t help continuing.

Derek opened his mouth to take a shaky breath, “You can’t protect everyone.”

Stiles huffed, “I would if they’d let me.”

For some reason that got a snort out of Derek.

“Come on,” Stiles said, pressing his luck, “Let’s go back inside.”

And to Stiles’ unending relief, Derek did.

 

~~~

 

It was rough. Saying it wasn’t would be a bold faced lie. But then again it was always touch and go when you added new members to a pack. Adding four at once, well…

Yeah, it was rough.

The good news, as far as good news went at least, was everyone fit in relatively well. Malia found her nitch out in the Preserve with Erica, winding her way through the woods and covering more ground than any of them. Cora was a little tricky. She was a hard worker, but terrible with customers. She was still being shuffled around, generally helping Lydia with small things and Kira with the heavier lifting, but Jackon…

Oh, Jackson.

“I swear to God,” Stiles groused, throwing his jacket on the couch and slumping low into the cushions, “If Jackson says one more thing about my brownies I’m going to kick his furry ass back to England. _It’s too much sugar don’t put nuts in it you’re an idiot I’ll rip your face off nyeh_ ,” Stiles mimicked.

Silence greeted his spot on impersonation.

“Derek I’m trying to make fun of your cousin the least you could do is help,” Stiles called. Derek appeared from the hall, still in sweats, sleep mussed and groggy from his day off. Instead of giving Stiles an answer, he made a beeline straight for his lap, climbing up and kissing him soundly. Stiles was so surprised (but totally on board, don’t get him wrong), he gave a little squeak before clasping Derek’s hips hard. When they broke apart all Stiles could say was, “Wha--?”

“I love you.”

Stiles blinked, completely off guard, “Gyuh?”

“You said it this morning,” Derek explained, barely moving an inch, “I didn’t get a chance to say it back.”

Stiles tried to remember that morning. He’d been rushed because… Well because there’s a hot werewolf in his bed, all long and sleepy and honestly how is he supposed to say no to that? He remembered finally making it out of bed, showering, nearly falling while he tried to put on his shoes, one last burning kiss from Derek and--

“Oh,” it had been an afterthought. Just natural. The thing to do when you kiss a man you’re head over heals for, “Oh. Well then.”

Stiles ran a hand up Derek’s shirt, pressing a kiss to his sternum, “I love you.”

Derek huffed, some low level tension seeping out of him as he leaned into Stiles, “I love you, too.”

“Good,” Stiles smiled into Derek’s skin.

 

~~~

“Oh my God,” Jackson choked, looking like something foul was under his nose, “Oh my--” he gagged again and Stiles was positive it was for show.

“What the fuck is that smell?”

“What smell?” Ethan asked a little too innocently.

“That-- Ugh, that sweet burnt smell. God it smells like licorice whiskey or something.”

“Oh,” Aiden swooped around his brother to pour pancakes on the griddle, “That’s Stiles’ Just Got Fucked smell. You get used to it.”

Jackson made a sound like a dying walrus, “ _Are you kidding me_?”

Derek tried valiantly not to burst into laughter. Stiles made no such effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible at endings. TERRIBLE. I sincerely apologize and some day I'll come back through and rewrite it maybe but yeah. That's it. Tadaaa~~~
> 
> (God I'm so ashamed.)
> 
> Anyway, please please please I'm begging you if you see any problems, any loose ends, anything literally ANYTHING, come talk to me in the comments. Or come bother me on [tumblr](http://boomsnapwhist.tumblr.com) or something. Thank you so much for reading guys, and thank you so much for chillin with me while I wrote a story with no idea where it was going or what I was doing...
> 
> Seriously, this whole story was based on that Derek Collapses In Front Of Stiles' Jeep scene way up there at the beginning. everything else was just thrown together haphazardly.
> 
> (Have I said I'm sorry? Well I am. I'm sorry.)
> 
> If you like this and want to read some of my other stuffs, go ahead and read [First](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1453987) for something fluffy, [Letting Go](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2147475) if you have hours to cry, or check out my [ Teen Wolf Bit(e)s](http://archiveofourown.org/series/255295) for other pieces of pieces I'm slowly but surely churning out.
> 
> Thank you again, everyone, for all your support. I truly truly appreciate it.


End file.
